Trust part one AND part two
by Moneypenny
Summary: What is trust? An incident in Harm's life forces he and Mac to examine that question. Trust Part two - now added to this thread due to popular demand :) and starts at Chapter eleven
1. Default Chapter

Trust - part one  
  
~ Trust - to believe in and rely on; consign to someone's care; expect or hope. ~  
  
English Dictionary definition 2002  
  
*******  
  
"'Stop that train!' the Fat Controller shouted as Thomas the Tank Engine rolled through the station..."  
  
Sighing inwardly, Lt Colonel Sarah Mackenzie tried to relax as the toddler sitting on her lap snuggled further into her shoulder. She'd read this bedtime story to AJ more times than she could remember and the words came automatically, her distracted mind not concentrating on the book in her hand at all. Not that her godson seemed to have noticed; his lips curled up in a sleepy smile, he was making soft choo-choo noises as she read to him.  
  
For a second the dark cloud hovering over her lifted and she let herself enjoy the moment. Pulling AJ closer she closed her eyes and let the touch of his baby soft hair on her cheek and the warmth of his small body give her some much needed peace. Moments like these were precious and she silently sent a thank you to Bud and Harriet for letting her share them; for knowing that tonight she needed a moment like this.  
  
But that was all it was: a moment. A small hand tugging on hers brought her back to the present and she found herself looking down into a pair of confused, sleepy blue eyes. With an effort she smiled, a weak effort she knew but it seemed to work. Feeling like a total fraud she watched his eyes flicker closed, his face peaceful as his hand trustingly reached out for hers and he fell asleep.   
  
Trust. How did children trust so easily as that? And why did adults find it so hard to do the same?  
  
With an angry shake of her head she dismissed that thought. She knew the answer of course she did: experience taught adults not to trust. Sometimes it taught children not to trust either. But was there a way to teach someone how to trust, to gain it back, no matter how painful the betrayal of that trust had been?  
  
As the events of the day replayed in her mind and the feeling of guilt reared its ugly head, she hugged AJ closer to her, using the world of Thomas the Tank Engine and the innocent dreams of a two year-old child as a shield against the real world. The task ahead of her looked impossible: a case of the blind leading the blind. What if there was no way back, no way to regain Harm's trust? What was she supposed to do then?  
  
**********  
  
~ Three days previously ~  
  
"Morning, sir. It's good to have you back."  
  
With a nod and a tight-lipped smile, Commander Harmon Rabb Jr acknowledged the greeting of the young Marine guard posted at the entranceway to the bullpen. As he walked past him, taking the familiar journey around the edge of the room to his office he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. The Marine was watching him, following his every move. Ignoring the perverse temptation to stop and call the hapless soldier on his behaviour Harm forced himself to carry on. The Marine hadn't been the first person to watch him with morbid fascination that morning; no doubt he wouldn't be the last.  
  
'That'll teach you to get shot outside the JAG HQ,' his dry sense of humour whispered to him, making a rare appearance as it broke through his dark thoughts for the first time in weeks. 'Bet the bullpen rumour mill has been chewing over this one ever since it happened.'  
  
'Chewing over it and condemning you,' his dark mood finished for him as he came to a halt outside his office. Well, that was something he was going to have to face. He was ready for it. He deserved it.   
  
Guilt had got him out of his apartment that morning and to the office. But now he was there he was discovering guilt wasn't enough to keep him going. Sweaty palms and a mouth as dry as the Sahara Desert weren't something he was used to experiencing whilst standing outside his own office. And the concerned eyes of the Marine guard were still watching him, drilling through the back of his head.  
  
Concern was one thing he didn't need. With a barely concealed grunt of annoyance he opened his office door and pushed his way through, slamming it behind him. Throwing his cover and briefcase on the table, he dropped into his chair. This was stupid, he reminded himself not for the first time that morning. It was just a journey into the office, a journey he'd made more times than he could count. A journey he'd been in the process of making four weeks before when Petty Officer Robinson had stopped him not 300 yards away from where he was sitting now and all hell had broken loose.  
  
All hell breaking loose sounded like such an incongruous way to describe what had happened, he realised, considering that at the end of it all one man had ended up dead, another seriously injured. But that was exactly what had happened. One moment he'd been driving up to the HQ building, his mind on the case ahead of him that day, the next he'd been biting back anger, annoyed that Robinson had suddenly appeared at the side of the road, waving him down for no obvious reason at all. And then all hell had broken loose...  
  
With a shake of his head he forced himself to focus on something other than the vivid images in his head. His office looked neat he noted clinically, carefully taking a deep breath to slow the painful drumming of his heart. Harriet's work he decided, the box of pink and green tissues that had appeared on top of his filing cabinet looking suspiciously like something she would buy. And the pile of files on his desk had been arranged with military precision, the corners matched perfectly. Bud's work probably or perhaps Mac's. He couldn't decide which.  
  
Not Mac's, his mind pointed out logically. She'd been TDY at Norfolk and apart from a brief visit to his apartment when he'd first been discharged from Bethesda, he hadn't seen her since. She'd left messages of course, both at his apartment and at La Jolla, when his mother had insisted that he shouldn't be alone during his recuperation. He'd hadn't returned them though; too exhausted to care he'd slept through much of his sick leave.  
  
Just one more thing to feel guilty about, Rabb. One more on top of so many others. And once Mac found out how he had treated Petty Officer Robinson in the run up to when all hell had broken loose, he wasn't sure she would talk to him ever again.  
  
Whatever. He'd have to deal with it. He was ready. Straightening up his shoulders, he bit back a hiss of pain as his shoulder delivered an unsubtle reminder that perhaps four weeks wasn't time enough to heal after all. Fine, he muttered under his breath as he got up slowly from his desk, I can deal with that too.  
  
"Deal with what, buddy?" a voice asked him from the doorway of his office.  
  
Instantly recognising the voice, Harm cursed his slip in concentration and pinned a smile on his face. "These case files," he answered vaguely, waving at the files on his desk as he turned to face Sturgis.  
  
His head tilted to one side, Sturgis stared back at him, his brown eyes questioning. Unable to meet his gaze, Harm looked away, expecting his friend to call his bluff. But suddenly, unexpectedly, Sturgis smiled.  
  
"Talking to yourself if the first sign of madness," he pointed out as he wandered over to sit on the edge of Harm's desk.   
  
"What's the second?" Harm replied as he struggled to get his mind into the conversation.  
  
"Catapulting yourself off an aircraft carrier in a hunk of steel."  
  
"I thought it was trapping yourself in a tin can at the bottom of the ocean?"  
  
"Uh-uh." Sturgis shook his head. "Only sane people do that."  
  
"Counts you out then."  
  
Deliberately ignoring the jibe, Sturgis reached over to grab the neatly stacked files and wave them under his friend's nose. "Left you with the easy cases," the ex-submariner explained, deftly turning the conversation back to where they'd started off.   
  
His mind finding it difficult to keep up with the change of subject, Harm settled on a simple reply. "Thanks."  
  
To his surprise, Sturgis accepted that too, nodding as he asked his next question. "How's the shoulder?"  
  
"Fine." Lifting his left arm he backed up his claim with a sweeping windmill manoeuvre. Hours of painstaking practice paid off as Sturgis nodded at that too.   
  
"Good. Well, better get going. Admiral's briefing is in two hours and I'm way behind," he added as he headed for the door.   
  
"Been shorthanded, huh?" Harm heard himself asking, guilt ripping the obvious statement from his lips before he could grab it back. Sturgis stopped, then turned and Harm felt his heart sink. The quizzical expression was back in his friend's eyes and this time he knew he wasn't going to give up so easily.  
  
"It wasn't your fault, buddy," Sturgis said, the simple statement awash with invisible undercurrents. "You know that, don't you?"  
  
Did he, Harm wondered as he reached for his chair, all his hard won energy leaving him in a rush as Sturgis pierced his armour with one carefully aimed question. His friend knew him too well. And as a friend he deserved nothing less than the truth.  
  
"I know it wasn't my fault," Harm lied, looking away as Sturgis' expression darkened, his lips pursing together in a tight line. "But that doesn't mean I don't feel responsible." 


	2. Chapter 2

"Will that be all Ma'am? Ma'am?"  
  
Harriet's gentle prompt got Mac's attention but it was still with a certain amount of reluctance that she dragged her eyes from the file she was reading. It had turned out to be a long day but she was finally starting to get a feel for the case she was working on.  
  
"Sorry, Harriet," she apologised to the Lieutenant standing in her office doorway. "I didn't mean to keep you this late."  
  
Harriet shrugged away her apology with a smile. "No problem, Ma'am. I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
Mac returned the smile with one of her own. Turning her attention back to the file in front of her she was about to start writing notes again when she realised Harriet was still standing in the doorway.  
  
"What's wr..." she started to say, only to trail off as she finally took a closer look at Harriet. The way the young Lieutenant kept nervously glancing in the direction of Harm's office spoke volumes. Following Harriet's glance, Mac let her gaze linger for a moment on the blinds that were partially obscuring the view of the adjacent office.   
  
"I'll check on Commander Rabb," she offered, turning back to meet Harriet's gaze. As the younger woman left, Mac tried not to focus on how relieved Harriet had looked as she'd made her offer.  
  
You're just imaging things, she berated herself as she got up and stretched the kinks out of her shoulders. Things were bound to be a little off kilter for a few days at least. But she had faith that things would get back to normal, they always did. As her stomach rumbled, reminding her just how late the hour was, she left her office and headed for Harm's.  
  
"Time to go home, Flyboy," she announced, not standing on ceremony as she pushed open the door to his office. She faltered on the threshold as a pair of exhausted blue eyes met hers but she blinked the image away, reminding herself that it was only natural he'd be tired.  
  
"Sure, just need to finish -"  
  
"Now," she cut in, adopting her best Marine Colonel voice, softening the command with a smile. She caught her breath as for a second his shoulders tensed, his expressive eyes flashing with impatience and a hint of something else and then the moment was gone.  
  
"Whatever you say Colonel," he retorted, the Flyboy grin that had been noticeable by its absence all day suddenly back in residence.  
  
Finding some reassurance in its reappearance, Mac's step was more confident as she walked into his office and took the seat opposite his. "Any luck with those?" she asked, nodding at the stack of weighty law volumes on his desk.  
  
"Not really." With a sigh he threw down his pen and slumped down in his chair. "I don't know Mac. I feel like I'm missing something..."  
  
"It's only been one day, Harm. The Admiral only gave us the case this morning. You know how it goes -"  
  
"But it's only two weeks until we're due before the judge -"  
  
"And we'll figure it out before then." The Flyboy grin had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared Mac realised. He was tired, she reminded herself. Hell, she was tired too. Neither of them were functioning at their best. Which was why now was not the time to burden him with her concern. Assuming there was a good time of course.  
  
Putting that last self-indulgent thought down to exhaustion, she reached over the desk and firmly closed shut the book on top of the pile. Risking a glance at Harm she discovered he was watching her, his expression shuttered. Unnerved by his chameleon-like mood swings she watched silently as he shifted in his seat then closing his eyes briefly, pushed himself to his feet.  
  
"You're right, Mac," he told her as he slowly walked over to the coat stand. "We'll start on it again tomorrow."  
  
Another mood swing, another U-turn in the conversation. At a loss as to what to say, she followed him as he draped his coat over his arm, picked up his cover and headed for the door.  
  
"See you in the morning," he said, not looking back as he took the shortest route to the exit, weaving his way through the desks in the empty bullpen.  
  
"See you," she echoed quietly, her words barely carrying in the silence. Something deep inside her told her she should go after him but her legs suddenly seemed to be weighed down with shoes of lead.  
  
The sound of the bullpen's glass door swinging shut behind Harm brought her back to the present with a thud. Forcing her legs to move she wandered back to her office and sat back down at her desk, the files lying forgotten as she stared sightlessly out towards the bullpen.  
  
It had been a surprise when the Admiral had assigned her the case that morning. It had been even more of a surprise when he'd assigned Harm as second chair. She'd tried to maintain a calm façade as the assignments were announced but a glance at Bud had confirmed that she wasn't the only one who was puzzled. Harm on the other hand, had taken it all in his stride. At the time she'd just been so ridiculously pleased to have him back - sitting in his normal chair at her left hand side - that she'd ignored what was right in front of her face. Now she could see how unlike Harm his behaviour had been. Or was it unlike Harm? Where her partner was concerned she had a history of digging herself in way too deep. Was that she was doing now? Projecting her feelings of concern onto Harm and imagining things that weren't really there?   
  
Damn. How did she allow herself to get into these situations? Annoyed, she got up again, taking some of her frustration out on the files as she stacked them up neatly. Harm was fine - now. There was no need to worry. It was natural that everyone would be walking on eggshells for a few days; they had all been affected in some way by what had happened to Harm. Harm most of all.  
  
Slamming the last file onto the pile, straightening it up so that all the corners were square, she surveyed her handy work. The centre of her desk was clear, the files on it lined up with military precision. With nothing else to do she could no longer avoid heading home. The thought of her apartment brought with it the lure of a long, hot bath and her knotted shoulder muscles twinged in sympathy at the thought. Relax, she berated herself silently, taking her own advice and inhaling deeply. Harm's a big boy; he can look after himself. If he needs you he knows where to find you.   
  
Right. Of course he would. Assuming he didn't run to La Jolla first.  
  
With an angry jerk of her shoulders she gave up all pretence of calm and reshuffled the files again, splitting them into two piles instead of one. He'd had every right to go to his mother's she reminded herself, the argument rolling through her mind with a worrying amount of familiar ease. Staying alone in his apartment had been out of the question; he would have needed looking after and who would have been around to handle that? Me, a small voice protested from one corner of her mind: me.  
  
She let herself wallow in that thought for a moment but then the Marine in her stepped forward again. The Admiral had needed her; with Bud and Sturgis helping in the initial investigation of the shooting he'd had no one else he could send to Norfolk. And with Harm out of danger there had been no reason for her not to go. It was part of the job she'd signed up to do; it was a duty that she'd embraced with passion and commitment. Harm understood that; no matter what other misunderstandings they'd had in the past she was certain they agreed on that.  
  
Letting out a tired sigh she tugged the front of her olive green jacket straight. Unconsciously she stood taller, the Marine officer's uniform instantly defining who she was, as it always did. Hooking a couple of files from the top of the once again neatly stacked files and sliding them into her briefcase she grabbed her cover and coat and headed for the door. Tomorrow was another day she told herself, brushing Harm's tired expression from her mind as she glanced towards his empty office on her way out. He'd be fine until tomorrow. Whatever was on his mind, she would ask him about it then.   
  
*********  
With a grimace, Harm prodded his fork into the vegetable lasagne in front of him. The cheese sauce topping had congealed as it cooled, giving it a glue-like consistency that was now refusing to let go of his fork. Quelling a wave of nausea he gave up on the food and slumped back on the sofa, leaving the cold plate of pasta sitting on the coffee table in front of him.  
  
Vaguely his mind registered that his apartment was a mess but as his eyes drifted closed against his will he couldn't find the energy to care. Even cooking the lasagne had been done more out of habit than a feeling of hunger. If his mother were here she'd have a few things to say to him. It was lucky for him she wasn't he decided as he dragged himself up from the sofa and headed for the sink, the discarded plate of lasagne in one hand. His lack of appetite wouldn't be the only thing she would comment on. She hadn't wanted him to return to Washington in the first place, at least for a few more weeks. It had taken all his powers of persuasion to convince her to let him go. Convincing the doctors had been a piece of cake by comparison.  
  
On automatic pilot he scraped the lasagne into the trash can and put the plate and fork in the dishwasher. For an instant he thought about doing some work on the case that he and Mac had been assigned that morning but his sluggish mind swallowed the thought whole and with a tired shake of his head he let it go. The Admiral had assigned him second chair: that meant the older man had decided to cut him some slack, for the time being at least. Unfortunately he had a good idea why but tonight, just for once, he wasn't going to argue with his superior's decision. It was a shame, he reflected dryily, that the Admiral wasn't there to enjoy the moment.   
  
Not that he was going to make a habit of slacking the guilty voice in the back of his mind goaded him. In reality the last thing the Admiral should be doing was cutting him slack. He, Harm, had failed in his duty. And a man was dead because of it. He should have listened to what Petty Officer Robinson had told him. When he said he was being threatened he should have acted. Maybe the guy hadn't had a sparkling service record but he could have given him the benefit of the doubt. Checking up on Chief Petty Officer Shayler wouldn't have taken a lot of time out of his day; if he had then maybe Robinson would still be alive instead of being pencilled in for a plot in Arlington. Maybe he wouldn't have spent the last two weeks in physio at La Jolla, trying to convince the doctors that one day he would be fit enough to pass the flight physical again.   
  
Maybe. That word again. There was no maybe about it. He'd screwed up; end of story.   
  
Angry with himself he took out his frustration on his body. Forcing one foot in front of the other, he headed for the shower. Undressing he avoided looking in the mirror. He knew what he would see; a body that had lost weight, the light tan he'd picked up in La Jolla failing to completely disguise the pale pallor of his skin. Nor could it hide the damage the bullet had done. The scars on his left shoulder and just above his ribs glowed red. A deeper red today he noted vaguely; a deep, hot, aching red that was gradually invading his body like an advancing army, striking first at his shoulder and now creeping down his side.   
  
He would heal. He always did. More lives than a cat his Mother had said, the tears pooling in the corner of her eyes belying the humour in her voice. Something else to feel guilty about. How many times had she ended up sitting next to his hospital bed? He'd lost count. He suspected that over the years it was more than nine.  
  
At some point he'd have to make it up to her but not right now. Right now he felt like he'd been hit by a truck; it was taking all his strength to stay upright he realised as he got out of the shower. Lying down suddenly seemed like a really good idea.  
  
Taking his own advice he did just that, crawling under the bedspread as soon as he'd towelled himself dry. The sheets felt soothingly cool against his skin but it still took him several minutes to get comfortable. A spare pillow placed under his shoulder solved the problem and with a tired sigh of relief he let his eyes drift closed.  
  
It was too quiet in his apartment he decided a short while later. In Bethesda he hadn't had a moment to himself, at La Jolla his Mother and Frank had always been around, if not in the same room. Now...now there was nothing. Despite the sounds of the city outside, the silence inside his apartment was deafening. And it was driving him nuts.  
  
Damn. Cursing himself he struggled upright, squinting through the midnight darkness at his apartment. This was dumb behaviour even for him. Mac would have a field day at his expense if she were here. Sleepless nights were normally her thing, not his.   
  
Despite himself he found his gaze drifting towards the phone at the side of his bed. One phone call and he could be talking to Mac instead of listening to his guilty conscience. But - as his guilty conscience helpfully chose to remind him at that moment - he hadn't bothered to call Mac back when she'd tried to get in touch with him after the shooting. It was a bit late to be calling in favours, in more ways than one. With another sigh he slumped back down on the bed. Reaching over to switch on the bedside lamp he retrieved the book that had been lying unread on his beside table for the last six months and flicked it open to the first page. 


	3. Chapter 3

Driving around certain areas of Washington at 02:00 hours was not a good idea. Mac knew that even without taking into account the hungry looks that she was attracting as she drove past the young men hanging around the streets. She wasn't in the habit of cruising around in the middle of the night. Sleepless nights were part of her life and normally she could fill the time without leaving the safety of her apartment. Tonight though her common sense had gone missing. She couldn't even remember picking up her car keys and leaving her apartment. But here she was anyway: a couple of blocks away from Union Station.   
  
Pulling over outside Harm's apartment, she turned off the lights and switched off the engine. Her fingers tapping the steering wheel nervously, she scanned the area outside, looking anywhere but at the apartment building in front of her. This was stupid, she told herself again. For normal people this was the middle of the night. Normal people would be asleep. And her partner had looked beat when she'd last seen him earlier that evening. Chewing at her bottom lip she considered her options, trying to inject some Marine logic into her thoughts. Coming to a decision she reached down to turn on the ignition again.  
  
A reflection in her side window caught her eye and instinctively she looked up. There was a light showing in one of the apartment windows: not a bright light, more of a glow. It could be anyone's she told herself even as her gut told her it was Harm's.  
  
So much for Marine logic.  
  
Climbing the stairs to Harm's apartment she kept repeating the same mantra to herself over and over again; this was stupid, really stupid. Waking up Harm in the middle of the night was not something he was going to let her live down. He'd been getting along just fine without her. Worrying about him was asking for trouble - particularly when she had to face him the next day at the office.  
  
Visions of just how embarrassing it would be to face Harm the next morning if she was about to wake him up swam into her mind. Standing outside his front door she faltered as the insanity of the situation hit her full on. And then she knocked anyway.  
  
Head cocked to one side she listened for any signs of life inside the apartment. The building was naturally quiet, even during the daytime. Tonight was no exception and except for the muted sound of traffic outside she got the distinct impression she was alone. This is stupid the voice in her head reminded her, the derision in its tone making her take a step back from the door. On the verge of taking another, she froze as the door opened, and a thin crack of light cut through the darkness in the hallway.  
  
"Mac?"  
  
Harm looked as if he'd seen an apparition, Mac noted vaguely, her limbs still refusing to work. As he stared back at her, naturally expecting her to say something, she finally found her voice. "I was just passing," she offered weakly, cringing inside as the words tumbled out of her mouth.  
  
"At 2am?"  
  
"02:17 actually," her internal clock offered helpfully.  
  
"Right." His sceptical tone had her wishing the floor would open up and swallow her but then his lips quirked up in the ghost of a smile. "You'd better come in then."  
  
Stunned, she watched as he pulled the door wide open and then disappeared from sight. Rousing herself she followed him, closing the door behind her before turning back to watch him pad his way over to the kitchen.  
  
"Sorry about the mess," he offered, unwittingly answering one of the multitude of questions that were invading her mind as her eyes adjusted to the gloom in the apartment. "Haven't had time to clear up yet."  
  
"Sure," she replied distractedly, forcing her feet to move as she surveyed the chaos that was Harm's apartment.   
  
Pulling up a stool, she took a seat at the breakfast bench and tried to tune out the mess around her. She failed. Dirty pans were sitting in the sink; tea rings stained the worktop that Harm usually kept spotlessly clean. A pile of clean laundry was sitting stacked on the floor by the sofa; his cover and uniform overcoat had been left lying on his desk next to his briefcase. Okay, for most people maybe it wasn't that messy she conceded, trying to quell the first stirrings of concern. But for Harm, a man who applied the same military precision to his apartment that he did to his office, it was a disaster area.  
  
The appearance in her field of vision of a cup of tea brought her back to the present. Summoning up a smile of thanks she wrapped her fingers around it, revelling in the warmth before turning her attention back to her partner.   
  
He did look tired she realised, confirming what she'd thought at the office earlier that day. Dark patches under his eyes contrasted with the paleness of his skin. And as he sat down opposite, his own cup of tea in his hand, it struck her how loose the USN sweats he was wearing looked on him.   
  
He still looks better than he did in the hospital the little voice reminded her. An image flashed in front of her, painful in its intensity, and she grabbed the mug tighter, taking a sip out of it to shield her face.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Fine," she lied, forcing a smile on her face as she met his look of concern, "Anyway, shouldn't that be my line?" she added, deliberately keeping her tone light.  
  
Suddenly Harm seemed fascinated by the contents of his mug. "I'm okay," he reassured her, his refusal to meet her gaze telling her all she needed to know. "Done nothing but sleep the last couple of weeks," he offered, obviously feeling some need to explain. When he did look up at her a moment later there was a familiar shy, self-depreciating grin on his face and she knew he was about to change the subject. "I've been doing some work on this case the Admiral gave us," he told her, waving at a yellow legal pad and pencil lying on the couch. "You want to take a look?"  
  
Not waiting for an answer he got up and headed for the couch, his tea in one hand. Slowly Mac followed him, trying to evaluate the scene in front of her objectively. Her gut feel had been right earlier that day; the man might not enjoy being cosseted but he obviously wasn't one hundred percent either, despite his protests to the contrary. The evidence around her proved that. The fact that he hadn't bothered to question her appearance at his door in the early hours of the morning worried her even more. Silently cursing ex-fighter jocks with egos the size of Texas who seemed to think they were indestructible she took a seat next to him on the couch and settled down to listen to what he had to say.   
  
An hour and a half later, he'd done nothing to ease her concern. They'd spent the time going over the details with a fine toothcomb, mapping out the shell of their defence case. Certainly Harm had picked up the intricacies of the case with ease but from Harm she'd expected no less. If she was honest, for such a fairly straightforward case, having two such experienced lawyers assigned to it was probably overkill. While she suspected that their client had been one of the instigators of the fight that had broken out during a spell of shore leave, she was sure he wasn't guilty of some of the more serious charges - theft and damage to property to name two - that he had been accused of. Even just reading through the basic groundwork she and Harm had covered tonight she was certain she could give the prosecution a run for their money in the courtroom. All they needed to do now was flesh out their defence case with details, and as far as she was concerned, that was a job that could wait for tomorrow. Harm, however, wasn't seeing it that way.   
  
"I don't know, Mac. Have we covered everything? What about his shipmates? We need to talk to them -"  
  
"We will, Harm, but not at four in the morning," she pointed out, reasonably.   
  
"What about the guys at the store? The timing is crucial on this. If they were in the store then it blows our case out of the water."  
  
Taking a deep breath, Mac forced herself to keep calm in the face of Harm's growing agitation. "We will. Starting tomorrow."   
  
"Well, you know, I ought to go do the follow up interviews. You're lead counsel. I should be doing the groundwork for you."  
  
"Harm, we'll do it between us, like we always do when the Admiral has us working together."   
  
She'd intended the words to be reassuring but to her surprise they had the opposite effect. Lips pursed, Harm looked away. This is a straightforward case, she reminded herself, struggling not to be blinded by the growing waves of urgency that were emanating from her partner. They'd handled cases like this numerous times before. Torn between feelings of frustration and concern, she felt her heart clench as his right hand unconsciously drifted up to massage his injured shoulder. Concern winning the battle, she shuffled closer to him on the couch. "Tell me what's wrong?" she asked, gently.  
  
He answered her with a curt shake of his head. Frustration getting the upper hand again she was about to back off when Harm spoke. "We have to get this case right," he explained to her, emphasising the words with his hands, his eyes refusing to meet hers. "It's important, Mac."  
  
Feeling like she was reading from a book that had half its pages missing, Mac went for the safest answer she could think of. "They're all important, Harm."   
  
She flinched as Harm jumped up from the couch, his pen and paper falling to the floor. "Don't you think I know that?"  
  
"Of course I do -"  
  
"So why don't you want to talk about this case any more?"  
  
Retrieving the pen and paper from the floor, Mac used the brief distraction to choose her next words carefully. "I will, Harm. Tomorrow," she promised, meeting his gaze and holding it. "Just not tonight."   
  
Harm stared back, his blue eyes angrily challenging her. She held her ground, her feeling of concern racking up a notch as she caught a flash of desperation in his eyes. Then suddenly the fight went out of him. Silently she watched as his shoulders sagged and he ran his hand tiredly through his hair. With a heavy sigh he slumped back against the couch and closed his eyes.   
  
"Harm?"  
  
Her worried tone had the desired effect. Opening his eyes, he rolled his head sideways to look at her.  
  
"What, Mac?"  
  
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Watching his face closely, she thought for a moment that he might actually answer her question. Then the self-depreciating smile reappeared.  
  
"There's nothing wrong..." he began, tailing off as she scowled at him.   
  
"There is," she insisted, leaning in towards him. "Is it the Admiral?" she asked, voicing another one of the questions that was bouncing around in her head, "Because if it's about him assigning me as lead counsel then you've got nothing to worry about. If they'd been another case to assign you to he would hav -"  
  
With a sigh, he cut her off. "It's nothing I can't handle." Rolling his head back the other way he stared up at the ceiling, his eyes half closed. Preoccupied by his sudden lack of animation, she jumped when he spoke again.  
  
"Why are you here, Mac?"  
  
He'd spoken quietly, his voice almost a whisper and it took her a second to realise what he'd said. As the words sunk in she thanked God that he couldn't see her face. Panicking as she realised she didn't have an answer, or not one that she was ready to face up to, she settled on the first solution she could think of. Escape.  
  
"I'd better be going," she replied brightly, getting up and heading for the breakfast bar to retrieve her car keys before Harm could respond. "You must be tired. It's been a long day and we're going to be busy tomorrow -"  
  
"No."  
  
Harm's voice stopped her in her tracks. "No, what?" she asked, something in his tone making her turn around despite her best intentions. She found a pair of eyes watching her over the back of the couch.  
  
"Don't go," he explained after a pause, frustrating her attempts to read him by lowering his chin as he spoke.   
  
"It's late, Harm -"  
  
"Which is why you shouldn't be driving around out there on your own."   
  
"It'll be light soon -"  
  
"So why not stay here for a couple more hours and drive home when it's light?"  
  
Shaking her head, she looked down at the keys in her hand. "I don't know..."  
  
"Please, Mac?"  
  
The keys instantly forgotten, she looked up at him. His mental shutters went up as soon as he realised she was watching him, the confident Flyboy mask slipping back into place, but not before she caught another glimpse of desperation in his eyes.  
  
"Okay, but on one condition," she heard herself offering as her heart overruled her mind. "You get some sleep."  
  
The Flyboy mask slipped for a second then recovered. "I'm not tired, Ma -"  
  
"That's the condition, Harm. Take it or leave it."  
  
Hating herself for pushing the point, Mac told herself that it was for his own good. She could count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times he had said 'please'. She couldn't ever remember him saying it in that desperate tone of voice before.   
  
"Okay," he agreed, surprising her again.   
  
"Good." At a loss what to do next she stepped back to the breakfast bar and put down her keys again. When she turned around, Harm was pushing himself up from the sofa.   
  
"I'm going, I'm going," he protested with a weak grin, as he headed for the bedroom area.  
  
Matching his smile with one of her own she stepped back to let him pass, only to reach out for him as he weaved dangerously. "Whoa sailor!"  
  
"Must be more tired than I realised," he joked weakly, a grimace of pain crossing his face as she grabbed at his arm to steady him.  
  
With a muttered curse she loosened her grip, cupping his elbow to guide him instead. "Sorry."   
  
"'S alright."  
  
As they made their way towards the bed, Mac had a million questions running through her head. She wasn't going to get any answers for them, not tonight at least. Harm was dead on his feet and whatever was bothering him he'd obviously decided to keep it to himself. He'd open up - eventually. She was just going to have to be patient.   
  
"Here you go."  
  
With a tired sigh he lowered himself to the bed. "Thanks."  
  
As he started to get undressed, she busied herself tidying up. Hanging up his overcoat in the closet she returned to the bedroom to find him struggling to get his arms out of the sleeves of his sweater.  
  
"Let me give you a hand there," she offered, reaching down to tug on the sleeves before he could protest. After a short tussle the sweater gave up the fight and she pulled it over his head. As it came away she found her eyes drawn to the newly healed scars on his skin; the one on his shoulder where the bullet had gone in, the one on his side where the surgeon had operated to take it out. An inch higher and...  
  
"I'm fine, Mac."  
  
Blinking, she focused on the face in front of her. "I know," she replied, swallowing around the lump in the throat. Dragging up a smile, she blanked out the sympathy in his eyes, knowing that if she acknowledged it she'd be lost. Desperately needing a distraction she knelt down and starting untying his shoelaces. Slipping his shoes off she lined them up neatly by the bed. Standing up again she reached for the waistband of his trousers. A sharp hiss from Harm as her fingers brushed his skin had her grabbing back her hand as if she'd been burnt.  
  
"Sorry, cold hands," she stuttered, hiding her hands behind her back.  
  
To her surprise, Harm looked just as embarrassed as she felt. "Yeah, cold hands," he agreed, a nervous chuckle accompanying his words.  
  
Backing away, she flashed him a faint grin. "I'll leave you to it then." Not waiting to hear his reply she headed for the safety of the couch. Slouching right down so that she was hidden from view she closed her eyes, willing her thumping heart to slow.   
  
A short while later she opened her eyes and risked a quick look over the back of the couch. The main light in the sleeping area had been switched off but the bedside lamp was still on. The outline of the bedcovers told her that Harm had made it into bed but somehow she doubted he was asleep.   
  
There was so much going on here that she didn't understand she acknowledged, her own tiredness suddenly washing over her. First there had been the shooting and the resultant investigation. Then she'd had to deal with the case in Norfolk, whilst still worrying about Harm. Now Harm was back and her gut feeling was that her problems were only just beginning.  
  
Praying that for once her gut feeling was wrong, she curled up on the couch and retrieved the case notes Harm had made. Forcing herself to concentrate, she began reading. Tomorrow, she decided, she would have a talk with the Admiral. This case was obviously bothering Harm and being assigned as second chair, she guessed, had a lot to do with it. If she could sort that out then maybe, just maybe, the other pieces of this puzzle might fall into place. 


	4. Chapter 4

Struggling to keep several files pinned under his arm, whilst carrying his briefcase at the same time, Harm swore under his breath as his car keys slipped out of his fingers. Hitting the ground with a metallic clink sound, they landed just behind the front wheel of the car. Hoping that not too people in the JAG building were about to witness him crawling around on his hands and knees in the parking lot, he put the files and briefcase down and did just that.   
  
"Sir, are you alright?"  
  
Instantly recognising the voice, Harm took a moment to retrieve the keys before twisting around to look up.  
  
"I'm fine, Bud. Just dropped my keys," he explained, waving them in the air to illustrate his point.  
  
"Aah, okay, Sir."  
  
Bud didn't sound particularly convinced, although what other reason Lieutenant Roberts thought he had for crawling around in the parking lot he wasn't sure. For a second he considered asking but quickly dismissed the thought. He wasn't convinced he was up to that conversation just yet. His brain, not to mention his body, was reminding him that he'd barely slept the night before.  
  
"Grab those files for me can you?" he asked instead, his friend's continued scrutiny making him feel uncomfortable. As Bud busied himself, doing as he'd been asked, Harm carefully levered himself to his feet. Not enough sleep by a long shot. He still felt as if he could crash out for a week.  
  
Grabbing his briefcase he headed for the main entrance of the JAG building, shortening his stride to allow Bud to keep up. As they walked the younger man kept up a non-stop flow of conversation in a way that only Bud could. Grinning to himself, he let Bud's words wash over him, the simple, friendly companionship between them lifting some of the weight from his shoulders. He'd missed it he realised with a pang of guilt.  
  
The separation had been his choice, not Bud's. It hadn't been Mac's either, he acknowledged, his mind wandering back to her miraculous appearance at his apartment the night before. But going to La Jolla had been the right thing to do at the time. They hadn't needed him here. He still wasn't sure that they did. Compensating for the fatal error he'd made on Petty Officer Robinson's case was impossible. Proving to his colleagues - his friends - he was still capable of doing his job might not be though. And he was determined to do it. He needed to.   
  
"How did the interviews go this morning, sir?"  
  
With a start, Harm realised Bud was actually talking to him as opposed to talking at him. "It went okay," he replied, rousing himself as they came to a halt outside the main entrance to the JAG headquarters. "Think I got us enough to give the prosecution a few sleepless nights."  
  
Bud's face lit up in a grin. "You always do, sir."  
  
"Glad you think so, Lieutenant."  
  
The words slipped out before he could temper the hint of guilt in them. As Bud's smile slipped, his expression changing from one of admiration to confusion, he kicked himself. Self pity wasn't a luxury he could indulge in he told himself as he searched for a way to get out of the hole he'd just dug.  
  
He needn't have worried though. Bud was - as always - there supporting him.  
  
"Of course, sir," the Lieutenant replied, his bouncy enthusiasm dulled but not quenched. There was a pause as he nervously hitched the files back up under his arm, his eyes wandering to a spot somewhere to Harm's right. "It's good to have you back, sir," he started, his earnest tone doing nothing to ease Harm's own nerves. "You had us worried for a while back there..."   
  
The omission of the final 'sir' told Harm that Bud was talking to him as a friend, not as a senior officer but he still couldn't find the words of reassurance he sensed the younger man needed. With his eyes still darting to some point behind him, to his right, he knew what Bud was looking at. A couple of hundred yards past the Marine guard post, where the trees on each side of the road blocked the direct view from the JAG building was the spot where Petty Officer Robinson had died. Suppressing a shiver he forced himself not to follow Bud's gaze. He'd already driven past the site several times that day: he didn't need to look again.   
  
"Better get these files to Colonel Mackenzie," he said instead, shattering the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over them. "Don't want her chewing out my six."  
  
"That you don't, sir."  
  
Bud's smile was back, Harm noted with relief as he took the lead, walking into the building. Right now he had enough guilt complexes to last a lifetime. Upsetting Bud was one that he was quite happy to live without.   
  
As they entered the bullpen, he nodded to the Marine guard at the entrance. Maybe it was just his imagination but the Marine looked genuinely pleased to see him. Granted, it was a different guard from the day before but there was none of the morbid curiosity he'd felt twenty-four hours previously. As he and Bud peeled off in different directions his eyes swept the room, studying the reactions of those around him closely. Smiles of welcome greeted him and he found himself smiling back.   
  
Ignoring the protesting aches from his body he straightened his shoulders, his step lighter as he entered his office. He wasn't sure what the hell had happened but suddenly the world looked a hell of a lot brighter than it had twenty-four hours earlier.  
  
Mac had happened, the little voice at the back of his mind insisted, resurrecting the argument he'd been having with himself ever since she'd left his apartment that morning. Somehow, and he still couldn't figure out how, she'd known that he'd needed her. So she'd come. It was as plain and simple as that.   
  
It wasn't that plain and simple though, was it? A light brush of her fingers against his skin and he'd been putty in her hands - or he would have been if he'd let her. But letting her wasn't an option. She deserved better. If only his mind would stop replaying that look she'd had in her eyes right after she'd taken his sweater off the night before...  
  
With a shake of his head he bought himself up short. She did deserve better. And he was going to make sure she got it. He'd mercilessly badgered her the night before over the drunk and disorderly case, something he wasn't proud of in the cold light of day. She'd brushed away his apologies that morning, her easy smile telling him that it was no big deal but still he felt the need to make it up to her. Hence his decision to make an early start on the interviews that day. And it looked like his hard work might just pay off. The interviews had taken the best part of the day but she was going to be impressed when she saw what he'd added to the case files.  
  
The files. Damn it. "Bud, have you got those files I gave you?" he asked, striding back into the bullpen.  
  
"Here, sir. I was just about to bring them through -"  
  
"No problem, Bud." Turning on his heel, he noticed Mac's office was empty, the late afternoon wintry sky shrouding it in long shadows. Frowning, he turned back. "Where's Colonel Mackenzie?"  
  
"In with the Admiral, sir."  
  
The Admiral? "Did she say why?"  
  
Bud shrugged in reply. "She just asked to see him, sir. She didn't say why."  
  
***********  
  
The ability to make subordinates feel nervous without even twitching a muscle was definitely a character trait that Admiral Chegwidden had been blessed with, Mac decided as she sat across from in his office. She'd only been sitting in his office for one minute and twenty-seven seconds but it felt like a lot longer. The wood panelled walls muted the noise from the bullpen outside. In the resulting silence the sound of the Admiral's pen scraping across the paper in front of him sounded unnaturally loud to her.  
  
"Sorry about that," the Admiral apologised as he finally put his pen down and turned his attention to her. "Meeting at the Pentagon this afternoon. Damn people can't wipe their own noses without a signed order." With a sigh he pushed his chair back and leaned back in his chair to study her. "What can I do for you, Colonel?"  
  
Good question, Mac thought suddenly feeling like a rabbit caught in car headlights. What could he do for her? If she asked the Admiral the wrong questions then it would sound like she was questioning his judgement, not to mention his authority, and that wasn't her intention at all. She hadn't been able to shake the idea though that the Admiral held at least some of the clues to explain Harm's behaviour. And, despite the fact that Harm claimed otherwise, she couldn't help feeling that he needed her help.  
  
"It's about Commander Rabb, sir," she began, her attention on her hands entwined in her lap.   
  
"Why am I not surprised?" the Admiral interjected, his eyebrows raising skywards.  
  
"Yes, sir." Despite her nerves, Mac found herself smiling. "It's about the case you assigned us to -"  
  
"The D & D?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Not a problem is there, Colonel?"  
  
"No, sir. Umm... I mean yes, sir."  
  
"Which is it, Colonel? Yes or no?"  
  
Swallowing hard, Mac dragged her thoughts together. "Yes, sir, there's a problem," she confessed, bringing her eyes up to meet the Admiral's.  
  
Eyes narrowed, he stared back. "And?"  
  
Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, she forced herself not to look away. "I was wondering why you assigned Commander Rabb as second chair, sir," she explained.  
  
For a second she thought he wasn't going to answer. Looking down he picked up his pen and restlessly twirled it in his fingers. Her emotions warring between relief and disappointment his next question caught her off guard.  
  
"You think the Commander isn't up to the task, Colonel?"  
  
"No, sir!"  
  
"You have a complaint about his work?"  
  
"Of course not, sir! It's just that -"  
  
"Yes, Colonel?"  
  
Taking a deep breath, Mac sought for the eloquency that came to her so easily in the courtroom but seemed to have deserted her when she needed it most. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"  
  
Slowly, the Admiral nodded. "Granted."  
  
"Commander Rabb is one of your most experienced litigators, sir. A drunk and disorderly charge does not warrant both of us being assigned to it. I realise that he's only just been cleared for duty but I think he should be reassigned to a case as lead counsel, where full use can be made of his skills. Sir."  
  
Lips pursed, the Admiral considered her request. "Are you questioning my orders, Colonel?"  
  
Stung by the accusation, Mac leapt to defend herself. "No, of course not, sir," she insisted earnestly.  
  
"Good."  
  
Convinced she'd gone too far, she was on the verge of apologising when she caught the Admiral's gaze and the words died on her lips. There was understanding in his eyes. Mentally kicking herself for underestimating one of the most perceptive officers she'd ever had the honour of serving under, she acknowledged him with a faint smile.  
  
"Thank you, sir." Forcing herself to be patient she waited silently as he sat back in his chair, thoughtfully tapping his top lip with his steepled fingertips.   
  
"You have a good reason for making this request?" he asked her a moment later.  
  
Sighing inwardly with relief, she nodded. "Yes, sir. I know Commander Rabb and I were only assigned the case yesterday but he's already becoming frustrated and I -"  
  
"You don't think frustration is a good thing?"  
  
Again she found herself smiling. "In Commander Rabb's case? No, sir."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"He's been out of action for four weeks, sir. He's not exactly good at sitting around doing nothing."  
  
"You can say that again, Colonel."  
  
"Yes, sir. I think a more challenging case, one that pushes him, is what he needs."  
  
"I see." The Admiral had the pen in his hand again. "Colonel, has he told you anything about the Robinson case?"  
  
Thrown by the change in subject, she struggled for a second to place the name. "Petty Officer Robinson, sir?" The Admiral nodded. "No, he hasn't," she told him, the realisation that Harm hadn't confided in her hurting more that she liked to admit. There hadn't been an opportunity she told herself, suddenly aware of the Admiral's scrutiny. And if she were to raise the subject now, when Harm had been cleared for duty, she would feel like she was opening up an old wound.   
  
"Hmpf."  
  
Frowning, she tried to decipher what 'hmpf' meant. Hopeful that the Admiral was going to enlighten her she waited, her disappointment growing, as he stayed silent. She'd come here hoping for answers and now she was even more confused.   
  
"Well, Colonel, I'll consider your suggestion," the Admiral broke into her thoughts. "Dismissed."  
  
Blinking with surprise she automatically sprung to attention. "Aye, sir."  
  
Walking out of the office, acknowledging Tiner as she passed the Petty Officer's desk, Mac ran the discussion she'd just had over in her mind. Just what had she achieved? She'd made her point about Harm. The Admiral hadn't really argued though: not by the Admiral's standards. As she headed back to her own office the realisation dawned on her that she hadn't achieved anything at all.   
  
******** 


	5. Chapter 5

"Thought you were never coming back," Harm greeted her cheerfully as she made it back to her office.  
  
"Didn't realise you were here. I wasn't expecting you back for at least another hour," Mac replied, dragging up a smile to hide the feeling of guilt she was sure was etched all over her face. Talking about Harm behind his back wasn't something she felt comfortable with, no matter how many times she'd told herself it was for all the right reasons.   
  
"Got in a minute ago," he explained, waving the files in his hand enthusiastically. Apparently oblivious to her mood he carried on, filling her in on what he'd found out as she sat down behind her desk. "Got us two more witnesses who can place our guy one block away from the store when the place was ransacked."  
  
"And they're sure about the time?"  
  
"Yeah." Hooking himself a chair from the other side of the room, Harm dragged it across the floor and took a seat across the desk from her. "Their shifts finished at 22:00. Five, maybe ten minutes to walk one block..."  
  
"Which means our client can't have been at the store at 22:15."  
  
"Got it."  
  
Harm flashed her a big grin and automatically she smiled back. It was, she thought, difficult to do anything else in the face of such enthusiasm. And this was enthusiasm he was displaying this morning, so different to the desperation he'd shown the night before. Another mood swing, another U-turn. But at least this one was an improvement.  
  
"And the witnesses can make a positive ID?"   
  
"No problem. They saw him walking down the middle of the road serenading passing motorists with 'You've lost that loving feeling."  
  
Mac couldn't resist a chuckle. "So we might have a hard time proving he wasn't drunk and disorderly."  
  
Harm shrugged, his eyebrows quirking skywards. "We can but try..."  
  
"True." Leaning back in her chair, she flicked through the files Harm had given her. Everything looked great but she'd expected no less. Perhaps she'd been premature in going to see the Admiral so early on in the case. It was bound to take Harm time to get back into the swing of things.  
  
"Everything okay, Mac?" Harm broke in softly, his concerned tone racking up her feeling of guilt another notch. "Admiral giving you a hard time?"  
  
"No, everything's fine," she reassured him quickly, turning her attention back to the files in front of her. "Good work," she congratulated him, backing her words up with another smile.  
  
To her relief he didn't seem to notice her diversionary tactic. "Thanks."  
  
They shared another a smile, a companionable silence falling between them. Taking the opportunity to study the man across from her, Mac was pleased to see that he didn't look as tired as he had the day before. His cheekbones still seemed more pronounced than before the shooting but that only added character to his face, not that he needed any more character she decided, chuckling wryly to herself.  
  
"What?"  
  
Mortified, she met Harm's gaze. Had she really laughed out loud? Apparently so, if Harm's amused expression was anything to go by.  
  
"It's nothing," she stuttered, embarrassment making her cheeks glow as she spoke. "Just thinking you don't look so tired today."  
  
The warm smile he bestowed her with in reply made her glow even more. "Must be something to do with the TLC I received from a certain Marine last night."  
  
Taking a deep breath, Mac forced herself not to stutter again. "Me? I didn't do anything."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
With a nonchalant shrug he dismissed her denial but she wasn't fooled. His eyes spoke volumes, the colour of them changing depending on his mood. As she looked into them now they were a deep blue, an intense colour that heightened the warm glow in her cheeks.   
  
Emboldened, she leaned across the desk to lay her hand lightly across his. "I know you don't like talking but..."  
  
"I know, Mac."  
  
The sincerity in his voice, and the way his index finger reached out to stroke her hand as he spoke, emboldened her even more. The questions that had been bugging her since the day before were still demanding to be answered. "The last month can't have been easy for you, Harm. If you want to talk about it..."  
  
Instantly his finger stilled and she knew she'd pushed too far. He was still smiling, his demeanour relaxed but he was refusing to meet her gaze. Struggling to find something to say, she tried not to look as his hand unconsciously drifted upwards to massage his injured shoulder, a disturbing replay of his reaction from the night before.  
  
"Ma'am, I think there's something you might want to see -" Bursting through the door, Bud came to a halt as he took in the scene in front of him. "Sorry, ma'am, sir, I'll come back later."   
  
"No, that's fine, Bud," Harm cut in before Mac could answer. "We're about finished here aren't we?" he asked her, not waiting for her reply before getting to his feet.  
  
"Yeah," she replied, grateful to him for taking the lead. "What is it, Lieutenant?"  
  
Still standing in the doorway Bud faltered, his gaze switching nervously between the two senior officers in the room. "It doesn't matter, Ma'am, I'll come back later..."  
  
Taking the hint, Harm headed for the door. "Don't worry, Lieutenant, I'm going."  
  
Suddenly feeling annoyed with the whole situation - her inability to talk to Harm; Harm's apparent inability to trust her enough to open up - she stepped around the desk and before Bud could protest, took the piece of paper he was holding.   
  
"Ma'am, that might not be -"  
  
A good idea, her mind finished for her as two names jumped out at her from the page: Petty Officer Robinson and Chief Petty Officer Shayler. Unfortunately there was one major disadvantage to her partner being seven inches taller than her she discovered a second later: he could look over her shoulder.   
  
"What the..."  
  
Damn. "Harm, it's nothing to -" Too late to mount a rearguard action she saw his hand snaking over her shoulder to grab the paper. "Harm, don't!" Twisting around she tried to grab it back but he stepped away, pulling it out of her reach.   
  
She could tell the exact moment he read the paragraph she'd just read: the one she hadn't wanted him to see. His eyebrows drew together in a deep frown, his mental shields slamming down so hard that she almost imagined she could feel the sound reverberating inside her head.  
  
"They're holding Shayler for a mental evaluation? What the hell is that about?"  
  
"Apparently there's some doubt about Petty Officer Shayler's mental state at the time of the shooting, sir," Bud offered from his place at the doorway.  
  
Eyes widening with disbelief, Harm stared back at the junior officer. "Doubt?"  
  
"Yes, sir. They had to wait for his injuries to heal before the doctors would clear him which is why it's taken so long but..." Finally registering the waves of anger that were emanating from Harm, Bud desperately looked over at Mac for help.   
  
"It's a formality, Harm," she jumped in, willing him to understand. "They have to be sure there's no doubt before they can decide what to charge him with."  
  
Harm dismissed her statement with a snort of derision. "Doubt? Trust me, Mac, there's no doubt. He knew exactly what he was doing. I was there. I saw him."  
  
Mac felt her heart clench at the unspoken emotion behind his words. His mental shields were wavering, anguish and guilt warring in his eyes. 'Haunted' was the word that sprung to mind. Instinctively she reached out, needing to touch him, to offer comfort. "Harm, I can't even begin to imagine what you went through -"  
  
"You're right, Mac," he shot back, wrenching away from her hand, "You've got no idea." Pushing past her he headed for the door, making Bud step out of the way as he showed no sign of slowing down. Disappearing out of sight, the sound of his office door slamming shut brought the activity in the bullpen to a halt.  
  
"Should I go and see if he's alright, Colonel?" Bud asked a moment later, nervously looking over his shoulder at the curious faces outside.  
  
Angrily blinking back the tears of tiredness and frustration that were threatening to fall, Mac shook her head. "Leave him alone for a while, Bud. If he needs us he knows where to find us."   
  
As the Lieutenant disappeared back to his desk, leaving the office door open behind him, Mac found herself the centre of the bullpen staff's attention. Straightening her shoulders she met their curious stares. Unnerved, one by one they returned back to work. Holding the pose for a moment longer she finally stepped back into her office, closing the door behind her and pulling the blinds shut.   
  
A glance to her left told her that Harm had done the same, the closed blinds between their two offices effectively blocking him off from the outside world. With a heavy sigh she sat back down at her desk, flicking open the files Harm had left her. Her heart wasn't in it though. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the words in front of her, her attention kept wandering back to her friend in the office next door.   
  
********** 


	6. Chapter 6

Oblivious to the spectacle he'd caused in the bullpen Harm stared out of his office window. A continuous stream of people were entering and leaving the JAG building but the normality of the scene outside was lost on him. Anger was eating away at him, engulfing the pain in his shoulder, making him blind to everything around him. Shaking, he rested his forehead against the glass, his fingers grasping the window frame with a white knuckled grip.

It was all still so real to him. All he had to do was close his eyes and he could replay the moment Robinson had died. He'd always enjoyed perfect recall. It'd been a useful skill for someone in his profession. Now it was a curse, his memory repeating every moment in minute detail, proving to him that he had every reason to feel guilty.

Mac had been right, she didn't know how he felt. No one did.

Sucking in an unsteady breath, Harm forced himself to focus on the scene outside, desperately trying to latch onto something that would keep the memories at bay. The burning anger snatched the chance away. Against his will he found his eyes wandering towards the Marine guard post, his eyes drifting shut as the memories broke through his barriers, swamping him, leaving him floundering helplessly as they dragged him along in their wake.

It had started off as a normal day. Too normal, he thought sarcastically, not for the first time. He should have guessed something was about to go wrong; nothing in his life ran smoothly.

Driving into work that morning Petty Officer Robinson's case was the one uppermost in his mind. It shouldn't have been he remembered thinking; he had more important cases on his desk that needed his attention. Petty Officer Robinson had been the one who had taken that option out of his hands; badgering him about his case every day, he obviously wasn't happy with the defence case that he, Harm, was building. With a sick feeling he remembered how the previous day he'd instructed Bud to intercept any calls from Robinson, his annoyance at the Petty Officer's persistence getting the better of him. It had been petty he realised with hindsight. If he'd taken the call himself, acted on it straight away then maybe...

That word again - maybe. Maybe if he'd spoken to Shayler the day before when Robinson had accused his superior of blackmail... Maybe if he hadn't let his decision be clouded by Robinson's service record...

With a shake of his head, he closed his eyes, leaning against the window as the memories increased in intensity. The trouble, he realised, was that he hadn't liked Robinson. Not for any one particular reason, he just hadn't liked him. With a service record that was blemished with more than one misdemeanour, he'd marvelled that the man had managed to get to the rank of Petty Officer and keep it. Hindsight though - again - had explained that too. Chief Petty Officer Shayler - the man he reported to - looked after his own, until he'd needed a fall guy of course.

But that morning, as he'd been driving into work, he hadn't known that. All he had was a message from Bud saying that Robinson had called the day before wanting to speak to him about Chief Petty Officer Shayler. Apparently Robinson had sounded nervous but that wasn't unusual; Harm couldn't remember a moment when Robinson hadn't appeared nervous, never prepared to stand by his statements, always looking for a quick way out. Bud had taken Shayler's statement the week before and having read it, Harm couldn't see any reason to talk to him again. The man was career Navy, he played by the book. His statement had reflected that; rarely deviating from the official line, he hadn't behaved like a man with something to hide.

At that moment, Robinson pointing his finger at Shayler had looked like another one of the Petty Officer's ploys to delay the inevitable. The man was guilty of stealing from the Navy. Of course, as the lawyer assigned to the defence he hadn't admitted that out loud. Until that point he'd managed to keep his thoughts at bay, applying the level of impartiality to the case that his job demanded of him.

When Robinson had jumped out in front of his car a few minutes later, however, all thoughts of impartiality had gone out of the window. Barely keeping control of his temper, he'd watched in amazement as Robinson pushed himself away from the hood of the car and ran around to the passenger door.

Reluctantly switching off the engine, he'd lowered the passenger window. Words of reprimand on the tip of tongue, he'd never got a chance to voice them as Robinson threw himself at the window.

"Commander Rabb, I've got to speak to you," Robinson had got in first, his words breathlessly tumbling over each other.

With an impatient jerk of his head, he'd cut him off. "I hope you've got a reason for this, sailor."

Robinson ignored him. "Why didn't you return my call?" he'd demanded, glancing over his shoulder. "I told the Lieutenant it was urgent."

"I got your call, Petty Officer. You're not the only case on my desk -"

Again Robinson had appeared to ignore him. More nervous than he'd ever seen him before, the Petty Officer kept looking back over his shoulder. No, he hadn't been nervous Harm remembered, nausea twisting his gut as the memory played out in his mind. He'd been terrified.

He should have seen it then, the panicked glint in Robinson's eyes, the tense, twisted line of his mouth. He hadn't though, too wound up in his own feeling of annoyance to see what was right in front of him. Instead he'd let out an impatient sigh, glancing meaningfully up the road towards the JAG HQ just a few hundred yards away.

"I'm late for a meeting," he'd replied, bluntly. "I'll call you after that-"

"No!" Robinson whipped round to stare at him. "I have to talk to you now! Shayler's after me. He's threatened to kill me-"

"I doubt that, Petty Officer."

"He called me last night," Robinson had insisted, a note of hysteria creeping into his tone. "He was outside my apartment. You've got no idea what he's like, sir. Please, you've got to help me..."

'Please, you've got to help me'. How many times had he replayed those words over in his mind? During the long nights spent in the hospital he hadn't been able to blank out the sound of Robinson's voice pleading with him. Now his voice was back, haunting him once again.

But he hadn't listened to his plea back then. Reaching down to switch the engine back on, he'd had his hand on the keys when the sound of a single shot cracked through the morning air, shattering the peace. It had taken him a second to figure out what it was. He'd heard gunfire many times. He just hadn't been expecting it so close to home.

His confusion growing he'd watched Robinson's mouth go slack and his eyes widen with surprise. Before he could act the Petty Officer had collapsed to his knees, a tell-tale red stain showing on the back of his shirt as he twisted around, his fingers desperately scrabbling for a hold on the passenger door as he went down. 'Gunshot' his mind had screamed at him but it had still taken him precious seconds to act. As Robinson lost his grip on the door he'd finally climbed out of the car.

The next few minutes were etched in his memory with perfect clarity. He could remember the surreal normality of the scene around him; the cars driving past, their drivers oblivious to what was happening in the road, the sound of birds singing; the orange glow of the sunrise as it rose over the skyline. And in the distance the sound of voices shouting.

A small part of him registered that help was on the way. The rest of him was focused on Petty Officer Robinson. On his hands and knees he'd crawled to the injured man's side, his stomach roiling as he took in the rapidly growing pool of blood.

"Hang in there, Robinson. Just hang on."

Reaching out, he forced himself not to react as he touched clammy skin. The man was going into shock he realised, Robinson's unfocused gaze telling him more than he wanted to know. Muttering more words of reassurance he'd ripped off his jacket, balling it up and applying pressure to the wound. Within seconds though the material was dark with blood.

Robinson had minutes, maybe less. Desperately he'd looked around for help. Hidden by the car, he had no way of getting the attention of the passing drivers. And running to the Marine guard post would mean leaving Robinson to bleed to death.

"Damn it. Where the hell are those guards..."

"You need help, Commander?"

Surprised, he'd looked up. An overwhelming feeling of relief had rushed over him as he came face to face with a middle-aged man in Navy uniform. Where the hell the man had come from he didn't know and at that moment he hadn't cared. Applying more pressure to the wound, he turned his attention back to Robinson. "This man's been shot. He needs medical help..."

"Sorry, sir. Can't do that."

Not sure that he'd heard right he'd looked up again, his brain vaguely registering the CPO's insignia on the man's uniform as he met his gaze. "You heard me, Chief. He needs help. Now." As the man stared back at him, making no obvious move to help, his brain started taking in more details about the stranger in front of him. The way he was staring down at Robinson, a hungry look on his face. The way his right hand was tucked behind his back as if he was hiding something. The name tag pinned on the front of his uniform...

His blood suddenly running cold, he'd forced himself to meet the other man's gaze. "Let me guess. Chief Petty Office Shayler?"

The other man's face broke out in a macabre impression of a grin. "You guessed it."

For a second they'd faced each other down, neither man moving. The sound of shouting voices had shattered the impasse. Kicking his brain into gear he'd searched for a way to gain the valuable few seconds he needed. Too late Rabb, he'd thought to himself as slowly Shayler had brought his right hand out from behind his back.

"He'd shouldn't have told you about our little scheme," Shayler ground out bitterly, the gun he was now brandishing glinting in the sunlight.

"He didn't."

"You expect me to believe that?"

Obviously not. But the shouting voices were getting louder and if bargaining would give the Marine cavalry enough time to get closer to them then he was willing to give it a try. "Put the gun down, Chief."

Shayler let out a snort of laughter. "Why?"

"Because if you give yourself up now a jury might -"

"I didn't do this just so a jury could take pity on me, Commander. He's already taken my career away from me," Shayler gestured angrily at Robinson's prone form before turning his angry gaze back on Harm. "Twenty-five years, Commander. What the hell I am supposed to do now?"

"So youshot him?"

With a shrug, Shayler had dismissed his question. "Why not, I've got nothing to lose."

In a moment of sudden clarity the whole scene had become horrifyingly clear to him. With Shayler convinced that he had nothing to lose, armed Marines about to appear on the scene any second and he and Robinson trapped in between them, he'd realised there was only one way Shayler wanted it to end. Locking down his own growing sense of fear he'd started looking for a way out. Too late he realised, looking back on the scene with hindsight. The sound of running feet was getting closer.

"Cavalry are on their way," Shayler had confirmed for him, his lips curled up in grim amusement. "Think they're going to get here in time, Commander?"

The question had been rhetorical but still he hadn't been able to resist looking over his shoulder. A lone Marine was heading down the road towards them, speaking rapidly into his radio as he ran. He wasn't running fast enough.

Taking a deep breath, he met Shayler's gaze again and gave it one more try. "Chief, put the gun down. I promise I'll help you. But you have to put the gun down, now."

"You want to help me the way you helped him?" Shayler asked, chuckling as he nodded at Robinson again. "I'm sure you'll understand, sir, if I don't take you up on your offer."

"Don't do this-"

Shaking his head, the Chief Petty Officer had raised his gun. "Sorry, Commander. But you're as guilty as him."

Survival instincts kicking in he leaned back to get out of the line of fire. In the distance he could hear the Marine shouting a warning but already it was too late. Shayler's finger was tightening on the trigger. The sound of a second shot cracked through the air...

Gasping for breath, Harm dragged himself back into the present. The glass in the window felt cool against his forehead and he focused on as he waited for the memories to fade. He was safe - he was in his office inside the JAG HQ. Mac was in the office next to his, the Admiral a couple of doors further along.

Dragging in several more deep breaths, he tentatively took a step away from the window. His legs felt shaky, the ache in his shoulder and side more pronounced, making the memories seem even more real.

What he had said to Mac in her office had been true. Shayler was guilty as hell. The man was obviously a good actor though. If he'd understood correctly what Robinson had been trying to tell him then the Chief Petty Officer had been party to the numerous thefts that had taken place over the years. Considering his rank, it stood to reason that he'd probably been the ringleader. And in order to keep the scam running for that long then he would have had to pull the wool over a lot of people's eyes.

Not this time, though.

A determined expression on his face, Harm brushed away the last few lingering memories and headed for the door. Robinson's defence case had been his responsibility. Just because the defendant was dead didn't make it any less so. He owed Robinson his guilty conscience reminded him. Nailing Shayler was the least he could do.


	7. Chapter 7

"Bud, have you seen Commander Rabb?"  
  
Mac frowned as Bud shook his head. Harm wasn't in his office, where she'd assumed he would be. His coat and cover were still hanging on the coat stand so he couldn't have gone far but his desk looked as if it hadn't been touched all afternoon.   
  
"I think I saw him heading towards Records," Harriet offered as she shrugged into her coat, getting ready to leave for the night. "That was over an hour ago, Ma'am. I don't know if he's still there."  
  
Her frown deepening, Mac nodded her thanks. "I'll see you both in the morning."  
  
On automatic pilot she headed out of the bullpen and down the corridor towards the stairs. It wasn't until she was half way down the first flight that her common sense kicked in, stopping her in her tracks. The closed blinds in his office had told her that he'd been brooding; she'd seen him do it before. Experience told her that the best thing to do was leave him alone, he'd snap out it eventually.  
  
Her heart was still in charge though.   
  
Trotting down the stairs as quickly as her heels would allow her, she made it down to the basement of the JAG building in record time. It was late in the day and most of the staff had gone home. The basement, always quiet anyway, had taken on an eerie quality as she walked down the corridor towards the Records room. If Harm was down here he was being awfully quiet about it she suddenly realised. Harriet probably had been right, Harm was long gone, which meant there was only one other place he could be; the head.  
  
Imaging the look on Harm's face if he found her loitering outside the men's room she was smiling to herself as she pushed the door to the Records room open. Her smile slipped as she took in the scene inside.  
  
"What..."  
  
A small pile of files lay fanned untidily across the floor. Next to them a box was laying on its side, the lone file inside it a testament to its original use. Stepping over them she leaned down to pick them up, then froze as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Harm was sitting on the floor, between two rows of filing cabinets.  
  
With a ghost of a smile he greeted her. "Hi, Mac."  
  
Hunching down beside him, her heart lurched. Leaning back against a filing cabinet, he was cradling his left arm protectively across his chest. He looked stiff and uncomfortable and his faint grin was locked in place.  
  
"What happened?" she asked. Closer inspection of his pale face didn't make her feel any better but she knew that keeping the mood business-like was the only way she was going to get Harm to talk.  
  
Quirking an eyebrow upwards, he gestured at the top shelf of the filing cabinet. "Lost a fight with the box."  
  
There was a trace of self-mockery in his voice that had her shaking her head. "Can you move?"  
  
Harm rolled his eyes. "It was just a box, Mac," he shot back. "Just give me a second..."  
  
She let him have his lie for a second, part of her hoping he really had just knocked the wind out of himself. When his face crumpled in a grimace seconds later as he tried to move it took all her self-control not to reach out and touch him.   
  
"Shoulder hurt?" she asked, struggling to keep it light. A simple knock on the shoulder shouldn't have laid him out like this. She'd seen him suffer much worse and be back to himself within days.   
  
"Must have come down on it harder than I thought."  
  
The sardonic note was back in his voice and she knew he was trying to bluff her. Images from the night before swam to the surface, reminding her how he'd needed her help. Not that he'd ask for help of course. Not even now, when it looked as though he could barely move. Taking a deep breath, she came to a decision.  
  
Pushing herself to her feet, she touched him lightly on his good shoulder. "Don't move, sailor. I'll be right back."  
  
Startled, he looked up. "Where are you going?"  
  
"To get your coat."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Knowing that he wasn't going to like what she was going to say, she flashed him an encouraging smile. "We need to get you out of here-  
  
With a sharp shake of his head, Harm cut her off. "I'll be fine. Just give me a minute."   
  
"Harm..."  
  
"A minute, Mac."  
  
There was a note of desperation creeping into his voice but she forced herself not to react to it. "You can't stay down there."  
  
"I wasn't planning to."  
  
"Great. Let's go."  
  
"In a minute..."  
  
"You said that a minute ago."  
  
"Who's counting?"  
  
"Me."  
  
"Mac..."  
  
There was a note of warning in Harm's voice that at any other time would have had her backing off, giving in. She didn't miss the flicker of surprise in his eyes as she ignored his plea and with one last glance over her shoulder, headed back upstairs again.   
  
Entering the bullpen she was relieved to discover that Bud and Harriet had gone home. Not that it really would have mattered if they were there; she knew she could rely on them to be discreet if the situation called for it. But the last thing Harm needed right now was an audience. Tiner's desk was empty too she noted several minutes later as she headed back out of the bullpen, carrying both her and Harm's coats and covers. With any luck that meant the Admiral was still at the Pentagon; trying to hide something from the ex-Navy SEAL was virtually impossible.  
  
Back down in the basement, she discovered that Harm had managed to pull himself up into a nearby chair. If the beads of sweat on his forehead were anything to go by he hadn't had a lot of fun getting there. For a moment she considered reminding him that she'd told him not to move. Then he met her gaze, his eyes dark with pain, and the thought dissolved. Nagging wasn't going to help. Reaching deep inside herself she retrieved a smile and put it on.   
  
"Here you go." Shaking out his coat, she gave it to him, standing back to shrug on her own. Muttering his thanks he struggled his way into it. Keeping her hands clasped firmly behind her, Mac resolutely hung onto her impassive smile as a few choice curses coloured the air.   
  
"Good to go," he announced finally, using the support of the chair to bring him to his feet.  
  
'Good to go' was a bit optimistic, Mac decided, watching him as straightened up. 'Straighten up' was a bit optimistic too. Favouring his injured side, he wouldn't look out of place on the deck of a listing ship.   
  
"Look, Mac, you don't have to take me home," he told her, breaking into her thoughts as they slowly headed towards the stairs. "I'll just get a cab."  
  
"A cab?" Exasperated, Mac felt her smile slipping. "Harm, you can barely stand up straight."  
  
"I'll be fine."  
  
"You're not fine," she shot back, tiredness and concern making the words come out sharper than she'd intended.   
  
His lips thinning into a stubborn line, Harm threw her a dark look as he started up the stairs. Not trusting herself to speak, Mac followed him in silence. Lost in her own thoughts she took a split second too long to react as Harm faltered on the third step. Before she could do anything, he'd reached out for handrail with his injured arm, grunting with pain as his shoulder took his body weight.  
  
"Okay, that's it." Draping his good arm around her shoulders she helped him straighten up. "I'm taking you to the hospital, Harm. No arguments."  
  
As they started back up the stairs - his arm still draped around her shoulder - she braced herself for the protest she was sure he would make. It never happened. Risking a glance to her left she found him concentrating on his feet, every step obviously taking an enormous amount of effort.  
  
Not good, the little voice at the back of her mind superfluously pointed out. This was not good at all. 


	8. Chapter 8

Sitting in the Emergency Room at Bethesda hours later, Mac found it hard to reconcile the man lying in the bed in front of her with the man who had stormed out of her office earlier that day. Asleep now, curled up on his good side, Harm looked more at peace than she could remember seeing him for some time. She knew that the painkillers they'd given him probably had something to do with it but she was grateful nevertheless.  
  
The ride to the hospital had been a tense one. Once they'd got outside the JAG building he had put up a protest, albeit a weak one. She'd been tempted to give in to him, his pain chipping away at her defences, but she'd held fast. By the time she'd helped him into her car - not an easy task with its low slung seats - he'd fallen silent, only the sound of his uneven breathing intruding on the silence.   
  
Quietly, she'd stood by for what had seemed like forever, as they'd run tests on Harm. Several times they'd wheeled him away to other departments but she'd waited, not sure what else to do. She wasn't even sure that he wanted her there but she_needed_to be there so she'd waited, pacing out a route between the waiting room and his bed to pass the time. Now, finally, they'd finished and the doctor in charge had promised to be back later with the results.  
  
Beside her Harm stirred, his eyelids twitching restlessly. Reaching out she covered his good hand with hers, gently stroking his fingers until he stilled again. His hand felt warm under hers, the skin on his fingertips slightly rough against her own. She took strength from his touch. His face might still be pale, the shadows under his eyes the evidence of the pain he'd been in but it was all so different from the last time she'd sat beside his hospital bed.  
  
So very different, she remembered, blinking herself back to the present. There'd been no sense of urgency this time. This time, as the last nurse had left, she'd pulled the curtains closed around the bed, leaving she and Harm alone together in their own peaceful oasis, separating them from the busy hustle of the Emergency Room outside. Last time there had been a sea of doctors and nurses swarming around Harm's gurney, so many that she'd had difficulty picking him out. She'd tried though, convinced that if she kept her gaze on him then he wouldn't go, that he needed something to hold onto. Stupid, she realised with hindsight, but at the time she would have done anything to keep him alive.  
  
Anything? For a second she considered that, the orange and white stripes on the curtains around her blurring out of focus. She needed him; four weeks without him had proved that to her. But what she have done_anything_ for him?  
  
Yes.  
  
Would he have done the same for her? Yes. She was certain of that, although she wasn't sure he'd be doing it for the same reason as her. He..._they_had always danced around that particular issue, but she knew she could trust him with her life. And she'd always been happy to go along with the dance, never quite ready to trust another man with her heart. Four weeks ago she'd been so close though. She would have confessed everything to keep him alive.  
  
With a sigh she focused on Harm again and found herself being watched by a pair of sleepy blue eyes. As his long fingers shifted under hers she moved her hand to a more innocent position on the bedcover and gave him a soft smile.  
  
"Welcome back."  
  
Disorientated, Harm blinked at her a few times. Licking his lips, he finally found his voice. "How long have I been out?"  
  
"One hour, sixteen minutes," she told him.  
  
Her answer was met with a dry chuckle. "Never gonna figure out how you do that."  
  
"Some of us have got it..." she retorted gently. "How you feeling?"  
  
Cautiously shifting in the bed, he seemed to consider her question. "Better," he announced finally.  
  
"Good." Taking a deep breath, she voiced the question that had been bothering her all night. "How long's this been going on, Harm? And don't try telling me this is this first time this has happened. Last night, remember?"  
  
Carefully pulling himself up his pillows, he met her question with his familiar self-depreciating smile. "A few days. I guess I thought it would pass." Twisting around he tried to move one of the pillows. Grimacing as his shoulder protested, she reached over and shifted it for him, holding it in place long enough for him to get comfortable. "Did they say when they're letting me out of here?" he asked, settling down again.  
  
"The doctor said she wanted to check your medical records. She should be back anytime soon."   
  
He let out a heavy sigh. "Had enough of this place to last me a lifetime," he explained, as she quirked an eyebrow at him.  
  
"That makes two of us."  
  
She hadn't meant for her words to be accompanied by a sigh of her own but they had and now it was Harm's turn to look quizzical.   
  
"You okay, Mac?"  
  
"Fine," she reassured him. There was a look of sympathy in his eyes that brought a lump to her throat but she swallowed it down. Four weeks ago things had been so different, she reminded herself. Now... Now they were back to dancing again.  
  
The sound of the curtains being pulled open was a welcome distraction. Looking up, she discovered that the doctor had returned. In her mid-thirties, with a warm yet no nonsense bedside attitude, Mac had taken a liking to the medic straight away. What Harm thought of her, Mac wasn't sure. She had a feeling though that the doctor had dealt with stubborn jetjocks before.   
  
"Ah, Commander Rabb. Good, you're awake." Pulling the curtains closed behind her, the doctor settled herself down on the side of the bed where Harm could see her. "We've got the tests back. Do you want to hear what I've got?"  
  
From the expression that flashed across Harm's eyes, Mac guessed it was the last thing he wanted to hear. Looking down at his hands, then over at the curtains, he seemed to be looking everywhere but at the doctor. Her heart going out to him, she reached out to give his hand a reassuring squeeze.  
  
"It'll be fine, Harm."  
  
Slowly his eyes met hers. Her gut twisted at the uncertainty in his eyes but his next words made it twist even more.  
  
"Um...Mac...could you give us a minute?"  
  
For a second the words didn't sink in. Glancing over at the doctor she saw a flicker of surprise in the woman's eyes but then it was gone, professionally masked. Harm, on the other hand, wouldn't meet her gaze. The closeness they'd shared only moments before was now just a memory.  
  
"Sure," she agreed, switching into automatic pilot and getting to her feet. "I'll get a coffee or something."  
  
Not looking back, Mac stepped out, closing the curtains behind her. The Emergency Room was busy but she let the bustle wash over her, her mind still on what had just happened. Harm had_dismissed_her. Okay, he hadn't wanted to come to the hospital but to just_dismiss_her after she'd waited for him, after she'd stayed with him the night before... Her confusion quickly changing to anger she scanned the scene around her. Hell, if he didn't want her there then why was she staying? She had better things to be doing than worrying about him. He wanted to get a cab home? Then let him.   
  
Decision made, she was on the verge of leaving when something caught her attention; it was the doctor talking to Harm and what she was saying made Mac back up, closer to the curtains.  
  
"I've been speaking to your doctor at La Jolla. I think it's safe to say he's not happy with you, Commander."  
  
It was obvious this doctor wasn't happy with Harm either, Mac decided. Her easy-going tone of earlier that night had gone, to be replaced with one that brooked no argument.  
  
"You called him at this hour? I'm not surprised he's not happy."  
  
"Let's leave out the jokes, Commander. You know what I'm talking about."  
  
"No. But I'm sure you're about to tell me."  
  
Hidden on the other side of the curtain, Mac could imagine the sardonic smile that the doctor was now being subjected to. Unfortunately for Harm, the doctor seemed immune to it.  
  
"You weren't exactly honest with the medical staff at La Jolla, were you?" Mac strained to hear Harm's answer but instead there was a pause that seemed to drag on forever before the doctor spoke again. "You led them to believe that your injury had healed when in fact it hadn't."  
  
"I've told you, it was fine. I dropped the box and-"  
  
"And nothing, Commander. I've checked the tests. I've run them past the doctors here and at La Jolla. The pain that you're feeling now isn't because you lost a fight with a box. It happened because you've pushed yourself too far, too fast."  
  
"Let me be the judge of that, doctor," Harm ground out in an icy tone that Mac recognised from the courtroom.   
  
"I don't think you understand the seriousness of this-"  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really. Are you prepared to risk your career? Because that's what you're doing, Commander. That bullet did a lot of damage. Without time to heal and a further course of physiotherapy, you could lose the full use of your arm. Is that what you want?"  
  
"I doubt that would -"  
  
"-happen? Fine, it's up to you," the doctor shot back with a snort of frustration. "In the meantime I'll arrange for to receive another course of physiotherapy, starting tomorrow."  
  
"You're removing me from active duty?"  
  
The note of desperation was back in Harm's voice, Mac noticed, her mind reeling at what she'd heard. Her anger forgotten, she had one hand on the curtain when the doctor spoke again, stopping her in her tracks.  
  
"No, Commander, I'm not. As I understand it, the Admiral has already agreed to keep you on light duties. I'd like you to take a couple of days off to rest that shoulder but after that, as long as you don't do anything stupid like losing fights with heavy boxes and you attend the physiotherapy sessions then I'm hopeful we can sort this out."  
  
"I'm in the middle of a case, I'm not sure -"  
  
"Would you like_me_to speak to the Admiral for you because I can if you like..."  
  
There was a deep sigh. "No. I'll speak to him."  
  
"Good. I'll leave a message with the physiotherapy team to call you at home tomorrow. I'll get one of the nurses to issue you with painkillers, she'll give you instructions on when to take them."  
  
"So I can go home?"  
  
"You can go home. Just think about what I've said. Do as I say and you could be back to full duty within weeks. Ignore me and you can kiss those wings of yours goodbye. Your choice."  
  
There was silence for a moment and then the bed squeaked as if somebody was getting up. Too late Mac jumped back as the doctor appeared through the curtain, pulling it shut behind her. Guiltily she searched for an excuse as the doctor fixed her with a knowing gaze but the other woman beat her to it.   
  
"Ah, you're back just in time," the doctor announced, her voice loud enough to be heard on the other side of the curtain. "I've just told Commander Rabb that he can go home."  
  
Bewildered, Mac struggled to find her voice. "Thanks." The doctor held her gaze for a second more, then nodded and left. Mac watched her go, taking a moment to get her thoughts together. Then, sucking in a deep breath, she pulled the curtains open.  
  
"So, how'd it go?" she asked, cringing inwardly at the brittle sound of her voice.  
  
Harm was already half way off the bed, his legs hanging over the edge. "Emergency over," he told her, his Flyboy grin firmly back in place. "The doc says I can go home."  
  
"Yeah, I know, she told me," Mac replied hesitantly, not sure how deal with her partner's latest change in mood. After what she'd heard the doctor tell Harm she'd expected him to be angry or worried or something. The Flyboy grin just didn't seem right. "So what did she say about your shoulder?" she asked, reaching over to undo the laces on the back of his gown.   
  
Harm pulled a face. "She wants me to take it easy for a couple of days. And I've got to go for physio, just as a precaution."  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"You want more?" The Flyboy grin was being put to full use.  
  
"No, course not," she replied, using all her courtroom skills to shield her real feelings. "It's just earlier, down in the basement, it looked serious..."  
  
"Mac, it's nothing," he told her earnestly. "I pulled a muscle, that's all. A few hours of physio and it'll be fine."  
  
"Great. "From somewhere deep inside her she dragged up a smile. It was a poor effort but Harm didn't seem to notice. The gown lying loose around his shoulders, he cocked an eyebrow at her then nodded at the curtains, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He wanted some privacy to get changed she realised belatedly. It was a bit late for modesty - she'd been there when the nurses had helped him into the gown - but she did as he asked, relieved for an excuse to escape.   
  
She shouldn't have listened to the doctor's conversation she admitted to herself as she walked to the waiting room, needing some space to think. But the fact was she had. Now she felt as if all her breath had been knocked out of her, her concern for Harm making it hard for her to breathe. So many of the pieces had fallen together; the reason why the Admiral had assigned Harm second chair, Harm's reluctance to have her there while he was talking to the doctor, to name but two. There were still so many pieces missing though. Why had he lied to the doctor's at La Jolla? He could be stubborn sometimes but he wasn't stupid and she couldn't believe he would do anything to jeopardise his flying career. And why had he lied to her, just then?   
  
The sense of uneasiness she'd felt the night before had suddenly grown two-fold. She needed time to think. A few days would be good but she wasn't going to get it. She had to figure out she was going to handle this and how she was going to handle Harm. Her heart was telling her that the confident, passionate, loyal and, right now, stubborn man that she'd come to love needed her. But how the hell was she supposed to convince him of that without confessing she'd listened in?  
  
TBC 


	9. Chapter 9

Title - Trust (9/10)  
  
Author - Moneypenny  
  
Feedback - yes please, to Miss_mp45@yahoo.co.uk  
  
Rating - PG13  
  
Archive - If anyone would like this then yes, feel free. Just tell me where.  
  
Disclaimers - see part one  
  
******************   
  
"Earth to Mac..."  
  
Barely aware of Sturgis' good-natured jibe, it was his hand waving in front of her face that brought Mac to a halt. Her thoughts miles away from the entrance to the bullpen where she was now standing, she reluctantly acknowledged her friend's presence.  
  
"Morning."  
  
Concern flickered across Sturgis' features. "Anything I can help you with?" he asked, joining her as she weaved her way around the edge of the bullpen.  
  
Casual, she told herself. Keep it casual. "What makes you think there's anything wrong?"   
  
"You look like your best friend just died," he replied, his sympathetic smile removing any sting from his words.   
  
He hasn't died, she thought to herself. He's just...injured. And I don't know how to help him. With a start she realised they'd made it to her office and Sturgis was still standing beside her, his head cocked to one side as he studied her closely.  
  
"It's complicated," she explained, the unintentional irony of her words making her smile.   
  
Sturgis studied her for a moment more then smiled back, the warmth in his brown eyes injecting warmth into her soul. "I've got time if you have."  
  
For a second she was tempted. If she were to tell anyone what was on her mind, she decided, then it would be Sturgis. But that would mean betraying Harm. "Thanks..."  
  
"...But no thanks," Sturgis finished for her, no trace of rancour in his tone. "Okay, but you know where to find me," he told her, before heading for his own office.  
  
Thanks, she whispered under breath, immensely grateful for his quiet presence. Lack of sleep the night before, even by her standards, was making it difficult for her to think straight. Her thoughts had been stuck in a continuous loop ever since she'd left the hospital the night before. Biting back a tired sigh, she straightened her shoulders and headed for her own office.  
  
"Excuse me, Ma'am," Harriet cut in, intercepting her before she had even gone a few steps. "I was wondering if you knew anything about these?"   
  
'These' was a box of files that Harriet had balanced in her arms, her chin resting on the top file. Harriet's trademark enthusiasm could be overwhelming on just a few hours sleep, Mac discovered at that moment. Not fair, she added, mentally berating herself for taking out her frustration on the younger woman.   
  
"What are they?"   
  
"I found them downstairs in Records, on the floor." Moving a step closer, Harriet's voice dropped to a more conspiratorial level. "I know you were looking for the Commander last night and I just wondered..."  
  
The files that Harm had dropped the night before. Damn. Between rushing to get Harm out of the building and dealing with the fallout from the bombshell he'd unknowingly dropped on her at the hospital, she'd completely forgotten about the files. It hadn't even occurred to her to ask him why he'd been down in Records in the first place. A quick scan of the files didn't leave her any the wiser.  
  
"Aren't these ready to go into Central Records?" she asked, reading the labels stuck on the outside.  
  
"Yes, Ma'am. Once we no longer need them, or the case is assigned to another section, we move the files over there. These ones were boxed up last week."  
  
"Well, Harm was the one looking for them," Mac mused out loud, ignoring Harriet's sudden look of interest. "Put them in his office, Harriet. He can read them when he..." When he what? Harm had promised her that he would call the Admiral first thing that morning. He'd pretty much been out of it though when she'd finally left him in his apartment in the early hours of that morning. What if he hadn't made the call yet? "...When he gets back," she finished briskly hoping Harriet would take the hint and leave it at that.  
  
Taking hints wasn't one of Harriet's strong points. "When he gets back, Ma'am?" she asked, her features creasing up in a frown. "I don't understand -"  
  
"I'll explain later," Mac promised, one hand reaching out for her office door.  
  
"But he's in his office, Ma'am."  
  
"What?"  
  
Hampered by the box of files she was holding Harriet attempted to nod in the direction of Harm's office. "The Commander's in already, Ma'am. Do you want me to take these through?"  
  
Hearing Harriet's words but not wanting to understand them, Mac leaned back to get a look at Harm's office and check the evidence for herself. "Dammit." Turning back to the now wide-eyed Lieutenant, she snatched the box of files from her. "I'll take them," she ground out, turning and stalking towards Harm's office before Harriet could draw breath.  
  
Not bothering to knock, she entered Harm's office, kicking the door shut with her heel and dumping the box on his desk with a deliberate lack of ceremony. "Want to tell me what's going on?" she asked, her tone dangerously low.  
  
The welcoming smile that Harm had been wearing wavered as he looked up at her from his seat on the other side of the desk. "I'm working."  
  
Her vision already an angry shade of red, Mac found herself struggling not to explode. He'd_promised_ her he'd call the Admiral, that he'd take a few days off as the doctor had ordered. And now he was calmly sitting in his office, as though the whole episode at the hospital had just been a bad dream.  
  
"Don't Harm, just don't," she warned him as his expression changed to one of wounded innocence. "You know what I'm talking about. You said you were going to talk to the Admiral."  
  
"And I was," he replied, pushing himself up from his chair and walking round the desk, "but whatever the doc did, it worked. Almost feels good as new."  
  
Mac watched in silence as Harm flexed his injured arm. She felt like a gun-powder keg that had just had its fuse lit; on a slow burn and ready to explode at any moment.   
  
"So, how about the physiotherapy? Changed your mind about that too?"  
  
"No, of course not." He seemed to consider a smile then catching the look on her face, changed his mind. "They called this morning. They've got a slot at 14:30."   
  
"And you're going?"  
  
"Don't see why not." With a shrug, he perched himself on the edge of his desk and met her gaze. "I figure we'll have the rest of the witness interviews finished by then."  
  
"Interviews?"  
  
"You remember, Mac. I left a message on your answer machine yesterday morning."  
  
She could vaguely remember listening to the message. But if she remembered correctly, the place where the interviews were being held was more than a two-hour drive away. "I doubt we'll make it back in time -"  
  
"Then I'll get them to reschedule for another day," he shrugged again.  
  
Of course he would, mocked the angry little voice in her mind. "I could go on my own," she suggested, crossing her arms over her chest. "Then you'd have ti-"  
  
"No!" Harm shot back, half rising from his seat. "I'm coming with you."  
  
"I can manage a few interviews without-"  
  
"I'm coming with you," Harm insisted, the stubborn set of his jaw telling her the argument, as far as he was concerned, was over. The silence that followed told her that he was expecting her to say something, probably to back down. As the seconds passed and she didn't move, he tried a different tack. Penitence.   
  
"You know, I haven't thanked you for last night," he told her, his soft, self-depreciating grin making a cameo appearance. "How about we do these interviews then I cook you dinner. Your choice of food. How about it?"  
  
That soft, self-depreciating grin was a killer, Mac observed, her mind processing the information with cool detachment. Normally she'd be smiling back, jumping at the chance to spend the evening with him.   
  
Not tonight.  
  
"I'll think about it," she replied coolly, gathering herself up to leave. Of course, she could point out to him that the appointment with the physiotherapist had just miraculously disappeared from his afternoon schedule. But what was the point, the angry voice yelled at her. He'd just say it was a slip of the tongue.   
  
"Oh. Okay..."  
  
There was a hurt note in his voice but she blanked it out. The short fuse she'd been on when she'd entered his office was rapidly burning down to a stub and she needed to get out. Turning on her heel, she marched to the door. Yanking it open, she found Harriet standing on the other side.  
  
"Sorry, Ma'am, Sir," Harriet greeted them. Shooting Mac a wary glance, she turned her attention to Harm. "Um, I brought your keys for the pool car, Sir," she explained, edging her way into the office.   
  
"Thanks, Harriet." Sliding off the desk, Harm took the keys and returned to the other side of the desk. "Meet you downstairs in ten minutes?"   
  
With a start, Mac realised the last comment had been directed at her. "Yeah," she murmured. As Harriet disappeared again she saw an opportunity to escape. One hand on the door, she was half way out when her heart whispered to her, its betrayal stopping her in her tracks.  
  
Just give him one last chance.  
  
With a deep sigh she turned around again, resigned to telling him everything. "Harm, at the hospital last night, when you asked me to leave -"  
  
"You still worrying, Marine?" he cut in, one eyebrow cocked, his expression one of mock-sterness.  
  
"Yes...no..." Anger was making her words trip over each other.   
  
"I'm fine, Mac. Really."   
  
Catching his gaze, she held it, pouring everything she felt into the moment. "Are you sure? I mean_really_ sure?"  
  
Harm blew away her concerns out of the water with a shrug. "Yeah." His face creasing into a frown he seemed on the verge of saying something else. Hope flared in her heart, only for it fade again as he pointed at the files she'd dumped on his desk.   
  
"Your files," she cut in coldly before he could say anything else. "From last night."  
  
A look of relief flittered across his face. "Right."  
  
With a small shake of her head she admitted defeat. He'd expressed more emotion over the damn files than he had when she'd asked him how he was. Marching out of Harm's office, she was vaguely aware of Bud saying something to her but she brushed him away with another shake of her head, all thoughts focused on reaching the sanctuary of her office.   
  
Shutting the door behind her, she came to a halt in the middle of her office. Unaware of anything but the deafening beat of her heart, she forced herself to take several steadying breaths. Her hands were shaking she realised, bringing them up in front of her face. Her palms were dotted with dark half-crescents; perfect imprints of her fingernails.  
  
How_dare_he use her like this. He'd used her before to cover for him but she'd been willing then, always ready to trust his gut instinct. He was good at what he did; it was just his methods that could be considered unconventional. This was...this was something different.  
  
Sucking in another deep breath, she wandered over to the window, not seeing the scene outside as her mind whirled. She needed to apply some Marine logic to the problem but she couldn't. Harm was risking his career,_his health_ and he was expecting her to go along with it. In all the years she'd known him she'd rarely refused him anything. This time she didn't know what to do.  
  
She had no right to decide how he ran his life, she acknowledged with a pang of sadness. But she couldn't let him destroy it either, whatever convoluted reason he had for justifying for it. And he would have one, he always did.  
  
Walking back over to her desk she sat down. The anger she'd felt in Harm's office was abating. Suddenly she felt too weary to argue anymore. She needed to talk to someone and Sturgis sprung to mind but reluctantly she dismissed him. As much as she hated to admit it she needed someone who could talk to Harm, to make him do what she hadn't been able to.  
  
"Tiner?" she asked several minutes later as she approached the Petty Officer's desk, "is the Admiral in?"  
  
************  
TBC 


	10. Chapter 10

Title - Trust (10/10)  
  
Author - Moneypenny  
  
Feedback - yes please, to Miss_mp45@yahoo.co.uk  
  
Rating - PG13  
  
Archive - If anyone would like this then yes, feel free. Just tell me where.  
  
Disclaimers - see part one  
************   
  
It was fortunate there weren't any Marine guards in the parking lot, Harm reflected wryly as he reached the pool car Harriet had arranged for he and Mac. The selection of meds the doctor had prescribed the night before were rattling around loudly in the bottom of his briefcase; he was lucky he wasn't getting busted for drug dealing. As much as he hated to admit it though, he wouldn't have made it to work without them. They took the edge off the pain. The downside was that he'd woken up feeling like he'd had one too many beers the night before.  
  
Unlocking the car, he slid into the driver's seat. Tilting his head back, he sunk into the upholstery and closed his eyes. Just for a minute, he told himself as the now familiar little voice berated him for slacking on the job. In a couple of minutes he'd be ready to face the world again. He'd be ready to face Mac.  
  
Waking up in the hospital the night before he'd been so grateful to see her. He hated hospitals: the smell, the noise, the feeling of being out of control. Maybe he should have told her that he realised as his mind pulled out the memory and played it over. Now all he'd done was upset her and he wasn't even sure how.   
  
Because that's what you do, the voice reminded him. You screw things up.   
  
Tiredly he swatted the voice away. He knew what he was, what he'd done. Robinson had spent enough time last night reminding him. Perhaps that was why he felt so exhausted; the few hours sleep he had grabbed the night before hadn't exactly been peaceful. Mac had offered to stay but he'd persuaded her to go, still doped up enough on the painkillers he'd been given to think he was invincible.  
  
Now, in the cold light of day and only partly doped up, he remembered how preoccupied she'd been as she'd driven him home. She'd kept glancing at him; her expression indecipherable to his drug fogged mind. Playing the memory back he frowned, his gut twisting as he focused on her dark, expressive eyes.   
  
He didn't deserve the concern he saw there. And he shouldn't have put her through that in the first place. As for lying to her, back there in the office... He owed her so much more than just an apology. He didn't even know where to begin. At the beginning, he decided, logic kicking in for a brief moment. When she came down to the car he'd apologise. It wouldn't be enough but at least it was a start. And when this was all over he'd make it up to her. He wasn't sure how but he'd think of something.  
  
Opening his eyes he shifted against the dull ache in his shoulder and side. It_was_better, he told himself, blanking out the fact that it had taken all his energy to get out of bed that morning. The doctor had good intentions but he knew how the game was played too. She'd been covering herself; he was a lawyer, he knew all about lawsuits. A few weeks and his shoulder would be good as new again.   
  
Getting out of the physio appointments might be a bit more difficult though he decided, glancing at his watch as he thought that over. Mac had let the subject drop for now but he was under no illusions about how long that would last. All he needed was a few weeks breathing space though; time to prove Shayler had known exactly what he was doing when he pulled the trigger. Time too to prove to his friends - and to himself - that he deserved his position in the JAG corp. Better pray you can, the little voice prodded spitefully, because they aren't going to let you keep your wings.  
  
With a shake of his head he consigned that thought to the deepest recesses of his mind. Swallowing down a wave of nausea he checked his watch again. Where the hell was Mac? When he'd said ten minutes he'd meant ten minutes. And Mac was never late. That, he decided with a small grin a moment later, was what he got for upsetting a Marine. This apology of yours is going to have to be good Rabb, damn good.  
  
Resigned to waiting a while longer, he got as comfortable as he could in the restricted space. Eyes half-closed against the glare of the early morning sunshine, he ran through his plan of action for the day: the interviews followed by dinner with Mac - hopefully - leaving him the rest of the night to work on the Robinson case. Sleep, he'd decided over the previous few weeks, was highly overrated, particularly when he had people gate-crashing his dreams every night. At least now he had something to occupy the long, dark hours; with the information he'd lifted from the files that Mac had left on his desk he had somewhere to start from.  
  
Satisfied with his game plan, he was about to check his watch again when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Squinting into the sunlight he watched as Bud crossed the parking lot towards him. Correction: Bud was_striding_ across the parking lot towards him. Frowning, Harm got out of the car, leaning on the doorframe as he waited for the young Lieutenant to join him.  
  
"Problem?" he asked, deliberately keeping his tone light, despite the alarm bells going off in his head; shifting from one foot to the other Bud looked as uncomfortable as a cat on a hot tin roof.  
  
"The Admiral would like to see you, Sir," Bud explained, his tone polite as always.  
  
Harm felt his frown turn into scowl. "Now, Bud? Colonel Mackenzie and I are due-"  
  
With a shake of his head, Bud cut in. "Now, Sir."  
  
His friend's whole demeanour was screaming 'trouble' Harm realised. Not that he needed to look at Bud to know that; the sudden surge and void of his own stomach was warning enough.  
  
"Okay," he conceded, putting on his best poker face as he reached back in the car for his briefcase. "Let's go." Straightening back up, he found Bud standing beside him, looking even more nervous than he had before.  
  
"The Admiral asked me to take your files, Sir."  
  
The look in Bud's eyes, pleading with him to understand, set Harm's alarm bells ringing even louder. How the hell had the Admiral found out that he'd copied information from Robinson's files? It had only been ten minutes...  
  
"The case files you and Colonel Mackenzie are working on, Sir," Bud carried on explaining, oblivious to his superior officer's inner turmoil.  
  
Incredulously Harm stared back at him, comprehension stirring at the back of his mind. "The Admiral's taking me_off_ the case?"  
  
Nervously, Bud edged away. "May I have the files, Sir?"  
  
Harm glared at him, pinning him to the spot. "Is he reassigning the case, Bud?"  
  
"You'll have to ask the Admiral, Sir."  
  
"Bud..."  
  
His eyes full of sympathy, Bud met his gaze before looking away. Harm felt the blood drain out of his face as he watched his world crumble around him, already knowing what Bud would say next.  
  
"I'm sorry, Sir. Yes he is."  
  
***************  
  
~ Back to present day - Roberts' residence ~  
  
Shaking her mind free of the memories, Mac dragged herself back to the present. To her surprise she felt tears trickling down her face. Angrily she wiped them away. She was a Marine, not some love-sick teenager she reminded herself. And Harm was a big boy; he was old enough to look after himself.  
  
Still lying in her arms, baby AJ shuffled in his sleep. Cuddling him closer, she murmured some meaningless words of reassurance. With a soft sigh he settled down again, his small fist tightening around hers.   
  
The simple gesture had her blinking tears away again. She had no right to be crying over anything. She'd known what the Admiral would do when she told him about Harm's visit to the hospital. Hell, hadn't that been the whole point of going to see him? She'd wanted Harm to follow the doctor's orders and now that was exactly what was happening. The Admiral had stood him down for a week, maybe more depending on what the hospital recommended. And he'd ordered Harm to attend the physiotherapy sessions, including the one earlier that afternoon.  
  
Part of her knew that she'd done the right thing. She just hadn't expected it to hurt so much. Harm hadn't said a word to her as he'd left the Admiral's office; angry words would have been easier to accept than the way he'd totally ignored her. Now she was worried sick about him and she had no way of finding out how he was. He'd trusted her and she'd betrayed him. Perhaps it had been for the right reasons but she doubted Harm was seeing it that way right now. Cuddling AJ closer she gave into the tears and let them fall.   
  
*******  
  
TBC in Part Two 


	11. Trust part two chapter 1

TRUST – Part two

Author – Moneypenny

Notes: Follows straight on from Part One

-----------------------------------------

"Please. You've got to help me."

Slowly, like a man caught in a bad dream, Harm knelt down on the sidewalk and met the terrified gaze of the man lying prone in front of him. The paleness of Petty Officer Robinson's face contrasted sharply with the dark red, bloody stain spreading across the front of his shirt.

"Help's coming. Hang in there. You'll be fine," Harm heard himself promise. 'Liar' his mind screamed at him as Robinson weakly grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. With his face now only inches away from the Petty Officer's the evidence was undeniable; the man was dying.

Drawing in a rattling breath, Robinson's voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "I called you, sir. I tried to tell you. You should have listened –"

"I know, I'm sorry."

"You could have helped me. You could have stopped him…"

"I tried…"

Robinson's lips twisted in a bitter smile. "No you didn't, sir."

Automatically Harm opened his mouth to deny the allegation. Icy cold fingers of guilt stroking his spine made him change his mind. Robinson's terrified expression contained more than a hint of accusation. Swallowing down a wave of nausea, he covered Robinson's hand with own, in a helpless gesture of comfort. It was cold to the touch, the palm covered in something sticky. Blood.

Looking down he recoiled in horror. His own hands were covered in blood, from his wrists down to his fingertips. The front of his crisp white uniform shirt was covered too, the material sticking to his skin underneath. And the smell…

Retching, he scrambled backwards on his hand and knees, Robinson's accusing gaze following him, burning into him like red-hot steel. Swamped with guilt he froze. He knew he should do something but he couldn't; his body just wouldn't obey his brain. Paralysed, he watched the blood stain grow, pooling on the sidewalk, reaching out towards him…

"Commander? Commander, wake up."

With a jerk, Harm came awake. His heart thundering, he sucked in a ragged breath. Breathe, his mind screamed at him, just breathe. With an effort he did just that. His heart gradually slowed but the nightmare still lingered. Half-opening his eyes, he focused on the scene around him, determinedly replacing the bad memories with good ones. The walls were painted blue. Bright blue walls.

Bethesda – he was in Bethesda.

Mac.

For a second he was tempted to close his eyes again, to pretend the last few hours had never happened. But the brief glimpse that he'd got of the room had told him that he wasn't alone. Reluctantly he opened them.

He was rewarded with an encouraging smile from the nurse who was standing beside his bed. "Hey, there you go." Removing her hand from his shoulder, she flashed him another smile. Petite, blond and in her mid-twenties she was exuding enthusiasm. Before he could say anything she was heading for the door in a haze of bustling efficiency. "I'll go get you some water."

He opened his mouth to protest then shut it. Hewasthirsty he realised, licking his lips. The nightmare had left a sour taste in his mouth. Pulling himself up on the bed he shivered as the image of Robinson threatened a re-appearance. With a shake of his head he pushed it away. With the doctors already doubting his physical ability to do his job, the last thing he needed was for them to doubt his mental ability as well. Glancing down at his crumpled uniform shirt, he did the top button up. Just in time, he pulled up the knot of his tie as the nurse reappeared.

Switching on his Flyboy grin he took the glass of water from her. "Thanks."

A look of kind concern on her face, the nurse hovered beside him. "Feeling better?"

Fighting an insane urge to laugh Harm concentrated on emptying the glass instead. Drinking it dry, he handed the glass back. "Thanks."

Like a faithful puppy the nurse stayed by the side of the bed, her eyes never leaving his face. It crossed his mind to tell her to leave but despite his dark mood he pulled back; she was just doing her job. Her look of concern was the last thing he needed right now though. Exhausted, embarrassed, his skin still goose-pimpled and covered by a sheen of cold sweat, all he wanted to do was take a long, hot shower and retreat to his apartment. He knew it wasn't going to happen. It looked like he was going to be stuck in Bethesda for at least a couple more hours. And he knew who he had to thank for that.

Glancing at the clock on the wall he came to a decision. Dragging together the last dregs of his energy, he straightened his shoulders, and flashed the nurse a weak smile. His shoulder protested at the sudden movement, reminding him why he was back in the hospital in the first place. Ignoring the pain, he slid off the bed, using his full height to his advantage as the nurse looked up at him in surprise.

"What time did the doctor say he'd be ready to talk to me again?" he asked, retrieving his jacket from the end of the bed and carefully shrugging it on.

Confused, the nurse stared back at him. Harm could understand her confusion; she'd been with him earlier that afternoon when the doctor had finished examining him and given him instructions for the rest of the afternoon. Still, he reflected wryly, she'd already witnessed the effects of his nightmares. A mild case of amnesia shouldn't phase her at all.

It didn't. "Three-thirty," she replied, recovering quickly.

"Good. Gives me half an hour to stretch my legs." Buttoning up the jacket, he headed for the door.

"Okay." Behind him the nurse sounded doubtful again. "Er…Commander Rabb, you will come back, won't you?"

Offended, he froze then turned. The genuine concern he saw on her face forced him to swallow his resentment. "Half an hour, that's all."

With a nod and a sigh she let him go. Not waiting to be told twice, Harm went. With only half an hour to play with and zero energy at his disposal a walk outside seemed ambitious. Settling instead on a trip to the cafeteria he bought himself a coffee and found a small table in a quiet corner.

Five minutes later, and despite his best efforts, the nightmare was still lingering at the back of his mind. Brief snatches of it kept playing in his mindseye. Not clear pictures - more like shadowy images that refused to reveal themselves but which reeked of fear. Pushing them away, he focused on the scene around him again, grabbing onto the normality like a life raft. He shouldn't have let himself fall asleep in that examining room he realised, berating his own weakness. But he'd been so tired when the nurse had suggested he rest for a while. Tiredness coupled with the effects of a recent dose of painkillers and his body had made the decision for him.

How the hell had he let everything get so out of control?

When you let your own personal views about Petty Officer Robinson cloud your judgement, the guilty voice at the back of his mind taunted. All you had to do was return his calls and the man would still be alive. Instead Robinson's dead and Chief Petty Officer Shayler is squirming his way out of the murder charge. You're on the verge of losing your wings and maybe even your JAG career. And then there's Mac…

With a grunt he slammed the lid shut on that train of thought. Pulling the coffee towards him he sipped at it gingerly, screwing up his face at the bitter taste. He didn't really want it – the smell alone was doing strange things to his stomach – but asking the nurse for another glass of water hadn't seemed like a bright idea. She'd been brimming with questions he wasn't prepared to answer.

Remembering the nurse's parting question about whether he was coming back, he shook his head with disbelief. Just what were the medical staff expecting him to do? Okay, maybe he hadn't been honest with the doctors at La Jolla about his shoulder. And yes, grudgingly he had to admit that he had planned to miss his appointment with the physiotherapist that afternoon at Bethesda. But it had been for a good reason. With another shake of his head he attacked the coffee again. Admiral Chewiggen must have put a rocket up the doctor's six to get him behaving like this. Still, he knew how that felt. The Admiral had put a rocket up his as well.

Letting his mind drift, he ran through the events of the last few hours. From the moment he'd spotted Bud striding across the JAG parking lot towards him he'd known he was in trouble. As his friend had escorted him back to the Admiral's office he'd tried kidding himself that things weren't as bad as they looked, despite the fact Bud had confiscated his case files. He'd get out of it, he always did. The Admiral would glare at him over the top of his glasses; he'd apologise for whatever he was supposed to have done. Then he'd head out with Mac to do the interviews for their latest case and everything would be back on track.

Except it hadn't worked like that. Not this time.

Crisply and concisely the Admiral had run through a few simple questions. Not once had he raised his voice but even before he'd had a chance to answer the first question, Harm had known he was sunk. Somehow the Admiral had found out about his unscheduled trip to the Emergency Room at Bethesda the night before. He knew he'd been ordered to attend physiotherapy sessions. And he'd heard about the doctor's 'suggestion' that he take a few days leave. He didn't need a PhD in rocket science to figure out how the Admiral had found all that out; there was only one person he'd trusted enough to accompany him to the hospital the night before.

His stomach roiled at the sense of betrayal. Swallowing hard, he struck out angrily, pushing the coffee cup away. It tilted precariously, spilling steaming hot coffee over his hand and he snatched it back, sucking on his thumb to ease the stinging pain. Cursing under his breath, he pushed himself away from the table, the chair legs scrapping loudly across the floor. He knew he was drawing inquisitive stares from the other customers but a few well-placed stony glares quickly solved that.

Pushing through the swing doors of the cafeteria he headed down the corridor and towards the stairs. He didn't know where he was going and he didn't care; he needed to get out. His emotions were swirling, fighting for supremacy; he felt like he was going to explode. Speeding up he let his feet carry him down the first flight of stairs, the steady beat of his shoes matching the thumping of his heart. Faster he hit the second flight, using the handrail to swing him round onto the next step. His breath rasped painfully in his throat, reminding him just how unfit he still was from his injury but he pushed himself and kept going. He wanted out. He hated the smell of this place, the stifling heat, the non-stop clatter of footsteps over the hard floors night and day. He hated the alien feeling of not being in control.

Rattling down the last few steps he pushed through the fire door and came to a halt. Breathing hard, he looked around him, spinning on his heels to get a better view. Around him the organised chaos of the Emergency Room continued, the staff oblivious to his sudden appearance.

Disorientated, Harm stood rooted in the middle of the corridor. Physiotherapy was on the ninth floor. He could remember taking the first two flights but then… Shaking his head he tried to pull himself together. The warring emotions of anger, guilt and betrayal that had propelled him down the stairs were gone, leaving him empty. Now he just felt weary to the bone.

"Make a space! Coming through!"

Like a cork bobbing on water, he was brushed out of the way as a group of doctors and nurses rushed past him with a gurney. He caught a glimpse of the badly bruised and bloodied face of the man lying on it but then they were gone, disappearing behind a set of swing doors into one of the emergency treatment rooms.

Green tiles. He could remember the green tiles on the walls in the emergency treatment room. And the bright lights. Mac had been in there somewhere too, a familiar face amongst all the strange ones. At least he thought it had been Mac. The period after the shooting was still a blur. He could remember lying on the sidewalk, the Marine Guard leaning over him, saying something. What, he'd never figured out. All he could remember was faces, lots of faces with silently moving mouths. And there'd been a hand holding onto his.

Machad been there with him. So why had she told –

The beeping of his pager broke into his confused thoughts. Digging it out of his pocket, it took him a moment to realise the message was from Sturgis. Frowning, he read it again then shoved the pager back in his pocket. The doctor would be waiting for him, he reminded himself. Glancing one last time at the doors to the treatment room he headed for the elevators. Sturgis would have to wait, he decided, the fresh ache of betrayal taking control of his thoughts. If his friend wanted to find out that urgently how he was all he had to do was ask the Admiral. Hell, every member of the JAG Ops staff probably knew what was going on by now. Of course, he was assuming Mac hadn't run straight to Sturgis' office and told him everything. After all, she hadn't wasted any time running to the Admiral.

Stepping into the elevator he straightened his tie again. As the floor numbers slowly increased, so did the churning in his stomach. It was only physiotherapy he reminded himself. He wouldn't lose his wings. That was unthinkable. Itwouldn'thappen. He wouldn't let it.

The doors slid open again and he squared his shoulders and stepped out. Wiping his palms against his trouser legs he turned left towards the nurses' station. The young nurse appeared and he forced himself not to react at the look of relief that crossed her face. Smile, he reminded himself. Give her the Flyboy grin.

As the memory of Mac's hand holding his floated uppermost in his mind, he walked up to the nurse and smiled.


	12. Trust part two chapter 2

There were times, Sturgis reflected nostalgically, that he wished he were still serving aboard a submarine. On a submarine problems weren't given time to fester. It wasn't an option with everyone working in such close quarters. People either sorted their problems out or they kept them to themselves. End of problem.

As he pushed open the door to the bullpen, juggling his early morning coffee in one hand, his briefcase and cover in the other, he wondered if he could ask the Admiral for a reassignment back to submarines. Right away if possible, before Harriet had a chance to explain why she looked as if the world had just ended.

Too late he realised, as Harriet caught his eye, her lips quivering with a weak smile of welcome. With a nod he acknowledged her, keeping on the move and heading straight for his office. Part of him felt guilty, particularly as he felt Harriet's eyes following him around the bullpen but he already had a pretty good idea what the problem was. And if that was the case there was somebody else he needed to speak to first.

Leaving his things on his desk, he retrieved his coffee before wandering past Harm's office, giving it a cursory glance. The blinds were open but the office was dark, as he'd expected. Taking a deep breath he kept walking, forcing himself not to stare at the unoccupied desk inside. By now the whole bullpen would have heard rumours about Harm but he doubted anyone knew all the details. From the way he was being watched though, and not just by Harriet, it appeared the rest of the staff thought he knew what was going on. As he stopped outside Mac's office, raising his hand to knock on the door, he stifled a wry snort. He doubted anyone knew exactly what was going on with Harm, probably his friend least of all.

Not waiting for a reply he opened the door, gently closing it behind him. Heading straight for the visitor's chair he sat down without ceremony, sipping on his coffee before nodding at Mac sat opposite him.

"Colonel."

"Commander."

On a different day he would have smiled at the stiff formality, as would Mac. Today the words fell dead, lost in the feeling of uncertainty that had enveloped them both. With a sigh he slid further down his chair, wrapping both hands around his coffee. Submarines, a little voice in his head reminded him, you should have stayed with submarines.

Or perhaps not, he decided, watching the woman sitting silently across from him. He'd made good friends at JAG HQ, very good friends. And he'd caught up with an old friend as well. Now, they needed him.

Putting his coffee on the desk in front of him, he drew himself up. "So, how was little AJ, last night?" he asked, trying hard to inject some enthusiasm into his voice.

The silence dragged on for a moment but finally Mac shifted in her chair, blinking tiredly as she finally met his gaze. "Good, he was good." She paused, her expression confused. "How did you know I looked after AJ last night?"

"I have my sources," he replied, throwing her a smile then wiping it as she frowned back. "Harriet," he explained, gently. "Last night, she was worried about you," he added hurriedly, as her frown deepened, "she wanted to talk to some-"

Mac waved him to silence. "It's okay. I know…" Sighing loudly, she stopped. He gave her a moment, watching as she rubbed her eyes tiredly before flashing him a weak smile. "AJ was lovely," she started again, sitting up straighter as she spoke. "We read Thomas the Tank Engine and he went straight to sleep."

"And you?"

"Me?"

"Did you sleep?"

He knew the answer, even before she shook her head and whispered 'No'. It wasn't just the way she kept rubbing her eyes or the dark shadows that had appeared beneath them. She looked pale and her normally immaculate uniform was rumpled. For a moment he wished Harm were in his office so that his friend could see what he'd done to the people who cared about him; to the person who cared about him the most.

"I couldn't." She sounded so distant that he wasn't sure if she was talking to him or herself. "I kept thinking about yesterday, about Harm, about the Admiral. Perhaps if I'd talked to Harm again-"

"Mac."

"- he would have gone to the hospital on his own. Maybe if I hadn't gone straight to the Admiral-"

"Mac!" Reaching across the desk, Sturgis gently touched her on the shoulder. Jerking backwards, she looked up at him and then away but not before he'd seen the tears in her eyes.

"Damn!" Routing through her desk drawers, she found a box of tissues and tugged angrily at it. "Damn him, Sturgis. Sometimes I don't know whether to hate him or…" She trailed off, the tissues crushed in her fists.

"You had no choice," he replied quietly, sympathising with her thoughts. "He didn't give you a choice."

Mac's tone, when she replied, was resigned. "I know. I just wish I understood what's going on."

Despite the seriousness of the question, Sturgis couldn't help smiling. "Makes two of us."

He was rewarded as Mac shook her head and managed a faint smile in return. "At least I'm not the only one." Throwing the crushed tissues in the trash, she picked up a pen instead, absently twirling it in her hands. Finally she looked back up at Sturgis. "Have you spoken to him?"

"Since yesterday? No. Left him messages but he hasn't called." Retrieving his coffee he took a sip before asking tentatively; "You?"

Mac shrugged. "Same. Left messages."

"Oh." Taking another sip, he grimaced as he realised the coffee had gone cold. Putting it back on the desk, he tried to think of something to dispel the cloud of despondency that had settled over them both again. "Maybe he was too tired to talk. You know how hard those Physio guys will make him work," he suggested, until Mac waved him to silence.

"He might lose his wings," Mac reminded him, the matter-of-fact tone she was struggling to maintain not masking the pain in her eyes. "His wings, Sturgis. Because of me. Do you really think he's going to call me?"

"Eventually," he heard himself replying, despite his niggling doubts and the look of disbelief on Mac's face. Taking a deep breath, he tried to explain. "He's been through a lot. The shooting. His guilt about Robinson. And now this. He just needs some space. Once he starts feeling better he'll start thinking straight again."

There was a long silence before Mac replied. "Does he ever think straight?"

For the first time that morning he genuinely felt like smiling. "No. But that's one of the things you love about him."

Mac chuckled. "I think I need my head examined." Shaking her head she put the pen down then tugged her uniform jacket back into a neater shape. Sitting up straight, she looked more like the professional Marine Colonel that everyone was used to seeing. As long as you didn't look into her eyes, Sturgis thought, remembering the last time he'd seen fear there. That time the fear had also been for Harm, fear that Shayler's bullet had done irreparable damage. At the time they'd been grateful when he'd survived the surgery. They'd never thought about the long-term effects.

With a mental shake he forced himself to his feet. Harm had survived the surgery, he reminded himself, he would get through this too. He couldn't look away from Mac though. She was drowning, terrified.

"I'll go and see him this afternoon," he offered, his cold coffee in one hand. "I'll check he's okay."

As Mac nodded, jumping on his offer like a life raft, he knew exactly what she meant about either hating Harm or loving him.


	13. Trust part two chapter 3

As he parked outside his apartment several hours later, Harm was still oblivious to the conversation that had taken place in Mac's office. Not that he would have had much to add to the conversation right at that moment as he manoeuvred his SUV into its space. Despite the light steering on the car he was having problems, his lips clamped together in a thin line as he concentrated on turning the wheel. Getting it roughly into position he gave up, turning off the engine before reaching awkwardly across to open the door.

Driving to the hospital that morning, he'd managed to convince himself that being taken off duty was only a minor setback. His appointment at the hospital the day before hadn't turned out to be so bad. He hadn't enjoyed sitting through all the tests they'd run, but it had given him a chance to think. A week away for the office had its benefits; he still had some of the files from the Robinson case and now he'd have time to work through them. He could handle the doctors and the Admiral; he just needed to let them have their say, at least for a while. And Mac… He wasn't sure what he was going to say to her but he was sure he could sort it out. They always patched up their differences eventually.

Now, several hours later, his mood had swung completely the other way. With his head down as he walked across to his apartment block, he didn't notice there was another car parked outside. Walking from his car to his apartment door he was oblivious to his surroundings and he had the key in his front door before he actually realised he wasn't alone. Glancing over his shoulder he didn't acknowledge his visitor before looking away. Unlocking the door, he opened it and went in, leaving it open behind him.

Throwing his keys on the breakfast bar he waited, his back to the door. For a moment there was silence, the lack of noise tugging painfully at his already over-stretched nerves. When the door finally banged shut he turned around slowly, an impassive expression carefully fixed on his face.

"Checking up on me?"

Standing just inside the door, Sturgis wore an equally impassive expression. Still dressed in his uniform, his arms were folded across his chest, his feet planted slightly apart on the floor. His body language spoke volumes.

He shrugged. "I was passing."

Pushing himself away from the breakfast bar, Harm registered the flicker of guilt in his friend's dark eyes that belied his words but didn't call him on it. Even to his exhausted mind it was obvious why Sturgis was there. Now all he had to figure out was the quickest way to get rid of him. Turning his back on the other man he headed for the couch, unable to stifle a tired sigh as his body sunk into the cushions. Awkwardly shrugging off his jacket, he laid it across the arm of the couch before leaning back and closing his eyes.

"I went, okay?" he replied quietly, not caring if Sturgis could hear him or not. "And I'm signed off active duty for at least a month, maybe longer. Go report that to the Admiral."

"Harm." Opening his eyes Harm found Sturgis standing in front of him, frowning. "We're worried about you."

With a bitter snort, Harm closed his eyes again. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Harm-"

"Sturgis." With an effort Harm opened his eyes again. His tired mind registered the genuine look of concern on his friend's face but he couldn't find the energy to care. "I don't care if you're worried," he threw back, letting loose some of his frustration and anger. "I was doing fine on my own. Then people started interfering. Go back and tell them whatever you want. Just don't expect me to care about it."

For a second he thought he'd won. Sturgis looked surprised, angry and worried all in a split second. But then his shoulders straightened again. "You don't mean that."

With a heavy sigh Harm admitted defeat. "No, I don't." Sagging back into the couch he threw Sturgis a warning glare before closing his eyes again. "I don't need a babysitter though."

He felt the couch beside him dip as Sturgis sat down. "Do I look like a babysitter?"

"No."

"I rest my case."

They both fell silent, an unspoken truce settling over them. As the minutes passed Harm felt his eyelids growing heavier, sleep nudging at the edge of his consciousness. He wasn't surprised; since the shooting he hadn't slept well unless someone was with him. But he doubted even sleep would help him escape the feeling of despair that had been growing since he'd left the hospital. He was desperate to try though. Listening to his breathing gradually even out, his body grew heavier as his aching muscles relaxed.

"You need to talk to Mac."

Sturgis' voice was quiet, almost gentle as if he too could sense how precious the moment was. There was no mistaking though the determined note in his tone. Harm didn't reply, holding onto the last few seconds of peace. He could guess how the rest of the conversation would go. And there were certain truths that he wasn't ready to say out loud, not yet.

"She's worried about you."

Taking a long, deep breath he opened his eyes. Glancing left he found Sturgis leaning back in the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Taking the hint he did the same, the lack of eye contact giving them some distance from each other.

"She blames herself."

She shouldn't, Harm thought to himself, repeating the words out loud when he realised Sturgis was waiting for some sort of reaction. There was a pause and Harm could picture his friend frowning but he didn't look. A sick feeling of guilt was stirring in the pit of his stomach, one more negative emotion to add to the phalanx of others that were already starting to encroach again on his thoughts.

"Tell her that." Oblivious, Sturgis was still talking.

Harm shook his head, closing his eyes against the idea. "I can't."

"Why not?" Sturgis' confusion had been replaced with frustration.

"Because…" How could he explain it to Sturgis? The feelings went so deep, he couldn't form words to explain them. It was like he was standing in the middle of a maze. Logically he knew that he had got there somehow, and somewhere there must be a route out. But there were so many paths to choose from and they were all vying for his attention, each one promising him a way out. He kept finding himself on the wrong path, more confused and tired each time. Mac, the Admiral, Sturgis; they all wanted something from him. And then there was Robinson, the dead man invading his dreams every night, graphically reminding him that he'd made the wrong choice when he'd chosen to ignore the man's plea for help. He could hear Robinson now, could see Chief Petty Officer Shayler pointing his gun at them, his gloating face reminding him how badly he'd screwed up…

"Harm?"

Blinking, he focused on the room. Sturgis was crouched in front of him, their faces only inches apart. He opened his mouth to say something else but Harm cut him off, waving him away. As Sturgis backed off, using a coffee table to sit on instead of the couch Harm tried to get his thoughts together.

"It's not that I don't want to talk to her," he explained, pretending to pick the conversation back up as though the previous moments hadn't happened. "I just…can't." Swallowing hard he struggled to find the words. "She went to the Admiral, Sturgis."

Shaking his head, Sturgis looked ready to argue. "You gave her no choice."

No, his conscience reminded him, he hadn't given her a choice at all. But now one of his choices, one of the biggest choices of his life, might be about to be taken away. And no matter how much he accepted it wasn't Mac's fault it was still a bitter pill to swallow. Leaning his elbows on his knees he rubbed his eyes tiredly. He was going to have to tell someone eventually. Now was as good a time as any.

"I don't think I'm going to pass the flight medical, Sturgis."

Sturgis' expression softened but his tone was still determined. "You don't know that yet."

Taking a shaky breath, Harm voiced the words he'd been testing out in his head all morning. "Yes I do." His meeting with the doctors that morning hadn't gone well at all. They'd broken their verdict on his flight status to him gently but it had been like a blow to the gut. After the first few minutes he hadn't been able to take in their words at all.

Saying the words out loud to Sturgis wasn't any easier. Unable to meet his friend's gaze he stared at the floor, praying that Sturgis wouldn't reply with an empty platitude or words of sympathy. He wouldn't be able to handle that. When he finally risked a glance upwards he berated himself for having so little faith in his friend. Yes, there was sympathy in his dark eyes too but there was understanding too.

"What did they say?"

Sturgis had adopted the business-like tone he used in the courtroom and Harm gratefully followed his lead. "What I'd already guessed," he admitted, unconsciously rubbing his injured shoulder as he spoke. "Flying F-14s off a carrier is tough on your body. I'm not as young as I used to be. And, as the doctors pointed out, I can't seem to stay out of trouble."

Sturgis nodded, his lips quirking upwards at the last statement. "They're right, you can't." His expression turned serious again. "You'll still be able to fly though?"

"Yes." But not F-14s, his mind screamed at him.

His friend nodded again, obviously thinking everything over. "I'm sorry, Harm," he said eventually, meeting his gaze and holding it. "I know it means a lot to you. And I know you don't want to hear this right now but, for what's it worth, you're a good lawyer too. Don't forget that."

Try explaining that to Robinson's family, Harm thought but bit the words back. He was too tired to argue and he knew that once started, it was an argument that Sturgis wouldn't be prepared to drop. Instead he nodded, concentrating on massaging his aching shoulder instead.

Sturgis watched him for a moment then rose, wandering over to the window his back to the room. Harm waited, taking the chance to find a more comfortable position while Sturgis wasn't looking. He was just stretching out his long legs in front of him to ease the pressure on his injured side when Sturgis turned back round.

His expression was pensive. "You're going to have to tell her."

Shocked, Harm sat up straight again, ignoring the accompanying stab of pain. "No!"

"You have to."

"No. "Pushing himself off the couch, Harm headed for the kitchen, putting distance between himself and the argument. If it had been this hard to tell Sturgis how the hell was he supposed to tell Mac?

"You have to." Insistent, Sturgis had followed him. Now they were stood on opposite sides of the breakfast bar, Harm staring down at the top, Sturgis leaning forward trying to catch his eye. "Think about it. How is she going to feel when she finds out you haven't told her? She already thinks you don't trust her-"

Stung by his friend's words Harm looked up. "She told you that?"

"I read between the lines."

Harm swallowed against the lump that had unexpectedly appeared in his throat. Of course he trusted Mac. She was always there when he needed her. She backed him up on cases when other people wouldn't. She'd gone to Russia with him to search for his father and she'd been with him in the hospital emergency room after the shooting. His memory of her holding his hand was crystal clear.

"I do trust her."

"But?"

Rubbing his face with both hands, he tried to find the right words. "All my life I've wanted to be a pilot. Mac of all people knows what it means to me. She knew what might happen if she went to the Admiral-"

Sturgis jumped in. "But-"

Harm held up his hand. "I know, she had no choice. I understand that."

"So tell her that!" The frustration he was feeling was evident in Sturgis' tone. "She understands why you're upset. But you have to talk to her, buddy. You're not the only one having problems here. She needs-"

Harm turned away, effectively cutting his friend off. "I can't," he whispered, the overwhelming feeling of guilt robbing his voice of its strength. "Not yet." He could feel Sturgis' eyes boring into his back but he didn't turn around. He'd told Sturgis the truth. The knowledge that he would probably never fly another jet again was too painful, too raw. Mac had a way of making him face his demons and he had his fair share of those right now. He couldn't talk to her, not yet.

He heard a sigh as Sturgis walked around the breakfast bar to stand behind him. "Okay, don't tell her yet. But you're going to have to and soon. She deserves better from you."

His shoulders slumped, Harm turned to face him. "I know."

Sturgis examined him for a moment, frowning at what he saw. Finally he nodded. "Hang in there, buddy. It will get better."

Harm dragged up a weak smile. "Promise?"

His smile was matched, before Sturgis turned serious again. "They won't discharge you from the Navy or JAG. Remember that."

As much as he wanted to believe him, Harm couldn't, his demons about the Robinson case looming large. He'd screwed up. A man was dead. Was he the kind of lawyer JAG needed? Something of what he was thinking must have shown on his face because Sturgis suddenly frowned again. He turned away, trying to compose himself but his friend was already talking.

"There's something else, isn't there?" Sturgis was studying his face again, his dark eyes not missing anything. "Mac said there was something else going on that she didn't understand."

Mac wasn't the only one who knew how to make him face his demons Harm remembered suddenly, as the bitter taste of bile filled his throat. "Don't you think being shot and loosing my wings is enough?" he spat back, pushing past Sturgis to stand in the middle of the room. Sturgis didn't reply, just standing quietly watching him. Unable to stand still, Harm paced around the living area, coming to a nervous halt by the couch.

"Harm. You need to talk to someone."

It was the compassion in his friend's voice that nearly undid him. Swallowing hard, Harm forced his voice not to waver. "I'm talking to you."

"Not about what matters."

He'd always admired his friend's ability to cross-examine in the courtroom. Now he felt like a cornered animal. "Suddenly you're an expert?"

His aggressive tone didn't deter Sturgis. "This has got something to do with Robinson, hasn't it?"

"Of course n-"

"What happened to Robinson wasn't your fault."

Compassion again. Barely in control of his emotions, Harm strode to the door and opened it. "I don't need your help, Sturgis. And you can go back and tell the others I don't need their help either."

Reluctantly, his friend took the hint. He paused in the doorway, as if about to say something but apparently changed his mind. As the echo of his footsteps in the hallway faded away, Harm closed the door. Leaning forwards he rested his forehead on the smooth, cool surface and forced himself to breathe slowly.

He'd taken the wrong route again, screwing things up instead of making them right. A wave of guilt washed over him as he remembered the look on Sturgis' face as he'd walked out. And Mac… With a grunt of pain, he pushed himself away from the door. What was he supposed to do now? Dragging his fingers through his hair, he sat down at his desk and tried to get his thoughts together.

His mind kept bombarding him with problems. There were problems - like the loss of his flight status - that he didn't want to face. And then there was the problem of what to say to Sturgis and Mac, to make everything right, which he just didn't have the energy to solve. Instead he concentrated on a problem he could do something about – Robinson.

Sturgis had been right about one thing, he decided half an hour later, as he began scribbling down notes. He did still have a career at JAG - assuming they'd still want him once they found out how badly he'd handled the Robinson case. It was the one thing that was still in his control.

Reaching under his desk he retrieved his briefcase. The day before the Admiral had confiscated all the files for the current case he'd been working on. But he still had the paperwork that he'd copied from the Robinson files. Flicking through it he found the information he needed: the names and contact details of three of Robinson's colleagues.

Folding up the piece of paper with the names on it, he retrieved his jacket from the couch and tucked the paper in one of the pockets. Shrugging it on, he grabbed his car keys and headed for the door.


	14. Trust part two chapter 4

Mac sat in her office waiting for Sturgis to return. Not that she was getting much work done. Her office door was open but nobody had ventured in. The paperwork on her desk was untouched, still where it had been when she'd arrived that morning.

She'd tried working but her mind wouldn't co-operate. As soon as she tried concentrating her thoughts would drift to Harm. There'd be brief moments when she knew in her heart that she'd done the right thing by reporting him to the Admiral. The rest of the time there'd be guilt.

Glancing at her watch she noticed another ten minutes had passed. Sturgis had been only been gone for an hour or so but it seemed a lot longer. She grimaced at that thought as she closed the file in front of her and headed for kitchen area. Her internal clock was completely out of whack. Only Harm could turn her life so upside down that she didn't know what time of day it was.

She made it to the kitchen without being intercepted by anyone. Not that she was surprised; the bullpen was subdued. Going through the motions of making coffee she listened to the quiet murmur of voices outside. Harm had a way of striding through the bullpen that filled everyone working in it with energy. The last time it had been this quiet had been the days after the shooting, as everyone had struggled to come to terms with what had happened only yards from where they were sitting.

She hadn't been at the office when it happened. Driving into work she'd received a terse message from the Admiral telling her to get to Bethesda. She'd gone, not knowing what to expect.

Grabbing her coffee, she tried to push away the memory of those first few minutes in the hospital: the Admiral's pale face, the dried blood staining the cuffs of his shirt. Those images had been haunting her dreams for weeks. Now it appeared they were invading her waking moments as well. Closing her eyes, she tried to focus on something else but the images kept floating back: the confusion in the emergency room; the Admiral talking urgently to her, pushing her through the crowd of medical personnel; the moment she'd been sitting in the waiting room and realised she still had dried blood under her nails…

With a gasp, she opened her eyes. The memories were so vivid she checked her hands, putting down her coffee cup as she noticed they were shaking. Rubbing her hands she forced warmth into them.

By the time she walked back to her office she'd stopped shaking but she couldn't suppress a shiver. The memories lingered, making her stomach roil. Harm was fine, she reminded herself as she sat back down. Okay, maybe he wasn't fine but he would be. He'd bounce back because that's what he did. And they'd be friends again because that's what they did.

Friends. She picked the word out, running it around her mind. She missed her friend she realised, the sudden thought making her eyes prickle with tears. She'd survived the separation while he'd been recuperating at La Jolla because she'd assumed he'd be back. And for a while she'd thought – hoped – there might be a chance for something more. Now he was gone again and it was her fault.

For a second she wallowed, letting the negative thoughts overwhelm her. And then the Marine Colonel in her took over. It wasn't her fault, her inner voice reminded her sternly, making her sit upright and blink back the tears. Harm had put her in that position. And she was a Marine Colonel. Making decisions she'd didn't like was part of the job. Harm understood that, better than anyone. Sturgis had been right; once Harm was feeling better and thinking straight he'd see that she'd done the right thing. Everything would go back to normal, whatever normal was where she and Harm were concerned.

By the time Sturgis walked into her office half an hour later she'd almost convinced herself it was true. Almost. One look at Sturgis' face told her that wasn't the case.

"What happened?" she demanded. "Did you see him?"

Closing the door, Sturgis turned and gave Mac a nod that didn't fill her with confidence. With an effort, she waited for him to sit before asking the question uppermost in her mind. "Is he alright?"

The feeling of dread she'd been feeling since he'd nodded at her grew as he took his time replying. Finally he met her gaze. "He's okay."

His expressive eyes gave away the true story. "No he's not," she shot back.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sturgis sunk further into his chair. "The timing wasn't good. He'd just got back from the hospital-"

"What did they say?"

Frowning, Sturgis looked up. "Who?"

"The doctors," Mac replied, her gut twisting as Sturgis' frown deepened.

"They don't think he's going to be fit for duty for at least a month, maybe more."

"Oh." Stunned, Mac tried to think of something to say. During their visit to the Emergency Room several days before the doctor had told Harm he'd be taken off duty for a week. Nobody had said it would be a month. Harm hated being on sick leave. They'd told him he needed to rest, that he needed physio but that was all. "They think it's that serious? Did they say anything about the flight medical?"

Sturgis waved her to silence. "He didn't really say. They're still running tests."

It was Mac's turn to frown. "You didn't ask him?"

"He wasn't in the mood for talking."

There was something in Sturgis' voice that stopped further conversation. In silence Mac watched him walk over to stare out at the bullpen. She knew his attention wasn't on the scene outside.

"He became defensive, upset," he explained, obviously carefully choosing his words. He paused then glanced nervously over at her.

Her heart sunk. "About me?" she suggested. Sturgis didn't reply instantly, his hesitation speaking volumes. Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath and joined him by the window. "It's not surprising," she forced herself to say, "after what happened he's going to be-"

Sturgis shook his head. "It wasn't like that."

Touching him lightly on the elbow, Mac dragged up a grateful smile. "Sturgis, you don't have to protect me. I understand why he's angry."

"It wasn't like that," he repeated, his voice quieter but no less insistent. As he turned to look at her she could see the confusion she was feeling mirrored in his eyes. That confusion grew when he spoke again. "It didn't sound like Harm talking."

With an effort she found her voice. "What do you mean?"

"He sounded tired…defeated."

Mac shook her head, not wanting to accept the picture Sturgis was painting. "Defeated?" The word sounded alien when partnered with Harm. He never gave up. Not even after the shooting when no one was sure he would pull through.

Reaching out for the nearest chair, she sat down. The feeling of guilt she'd been fighting all day flared. Resting her face in her hands she fought for composure determined not to give into tears again. When she eventually looked up, Sturgis was still staring sightlessly into the bullpen, his thoughts elsewhere. "Why now?" she asked, not really caring if he heard or not. "Why this time?"

"Has he called you?"

With a start Mac looked up. She must have drifted off because Sturgis was sitting next to her now, studying her closely. Uncomfortable with his scrutiny she looked away. "Today? No," she replied, pulling her thoughts together. "I left him another message this afternoon," she confessed, "but all I get is his answering machine." Sighing, she voiced the idea that had been creeping up on her all day. "Maybe I ought to go and see him. I know he's angry but if I apologise…"

"No." Sturgis' voice was almost a whisper, but there was no doubting the urgency behind it. "No, not yet."

Mac didn't reply. She understood what he was trying to tell her, without seeing the sympathy in his eyes. Harm had said that he didn't want to speak to her. She clenched her hands together, warming them against the sudden chill spreading through her body. Her only consolation was that Sturgis looked as miserable as she felt. They shared another awkward silence until Sturgis stirred again.

"I told him that I think he needs to talk to someone."

Mac absorbed the news quietly, the latest bombshell not making a dent in her composure, compared to the previous one. "You mean a professional?" She thought about it then shook her head. "You know what he's like sometimes. When he can't fix things he gets depressed-"

"Mac-"

"He'll be fine. You said it yourself, when he's feeling better he'll start thinking straight." Her heart lurched as a look of guilt flashed across Sturgis' face. "What?"

"On the way back I kept thinking…"

"Kept thinking what?"

Sturgis sighed and looked down at the floor. "Perhaps we should tell someone that he's having problems?"

Please don't make me do it, was the first thought that crossed her mind. She pushed it away, angry at her display of weakness. One look at Sturgis told her that it was the last thing he wanted to do as well. She knew they would, if they had to. Harm's health was more important than his career, even though he wouldn't see it like that. But not yet. There had to be other options.

"Not yet," she insisted, pushing on as Sturgis looked ready to argue. "You were right this morning. Let's give him some space. At least he's following the doctors' orders. If we jump in now it'll make the situation worse." And he'll probably never speak to me again she added silently.

To her relief Sturgis nodded. It was obvious he wasn't relishing the thought of Harm finding out they'd intervened in his personal life again. "Okay." Standing up he straightened his jacket as she did the same. He caught her eye, frowning as he caught her lingering unease. "I'll make sure I speak to him everyday. He's not getting rid of us that easily."

Unable to speak, she just nodded. More than anything she wanted to see Harm for herself. She was just going to have to be patient - again.

A knock on the door startled them both. Out of the corner of her eye Mac saw Sturgis school his features into a more neutral expression as he replied, "Enter." Turning, he blocked the view of the room, just as a nervous looking Harriet appeared. "Lieutenant, you needed something?"

Silently thanking Sturgis for taking the lead, Mac used the few extra seconds to take a deep breath and collect herself. "There's a phone call for you, sir," Harriet was saying as Mac joined them by the door. She forced herself to smile as Harriet threw her a worried glance. It slipped as Sturgis headed off to his own office, disappearing altogether as she realised Harriet hadn't gone back to her desk.

"I'm fine," Mac insisted, pre-empting the younger woman. "Really," she added as Harriet made no move to leave. The Lieutenant hesitated, her expression doubtful. Her expression turned to surprise as Mac gently closed the door on her.

Cursing herself Mac sat back at the desk. She'd apologise later, she decided, when she had the energy to hold a conversation. For the moment she needed some time to herself to think. The news that Sturgis had delivered about Harm had upset her but she couldn't give in. She wouldn't give in.

Harm wasn't going to get rid of her that easily.


	15. Trust part two chapter 5

"How you feeling, Commander?"

Ignoring the beads of sweat sliding down his forehead, Harm forced himself to smile. The physiotherapist crouched on the exercise mat beside him didn't smile back. With an effort he dragged up what he knew Mac referred to as his Flyboy grin. "I'm okay."

It was only the second day he'd been working with this physiotherapist but already he was learning to read her body language. To start with his Flyboy grin didn't work on Elizabeth, or Liz as she preferred to be called. Fifteen years working with Navy personnel probably explained that he decided, dropping the grin as she admonished him with a raised eyebrow. She was straightforward – from her simple, short haircut through to her no-nonsense attitude - and he appreciated that. In two days she hadn't lectured to him once. If he did well she told him. If he did badly he knew about it. That was all. And he'd been left in no doubt that when it came to physiotherapy she knew what she was talking about.

With a sigh he conceded the battle of wills. Shaking his head, he met her gaze. "It aches," he admitted, carefully flexing his left shoulder.

His admiration for her grew as she refrained from commenting and just nodded instead. Leaning forward she gently flexed his arm, her brow creasing in concentration. Finally she rocked back on her heels. "You're doing fine," she replied briskly, the accompanying quirk of her lips giving her words a final seal of approval. "Let's go through the exercise twice more so I know you've got it right. Then we can work on a plan for the next week."

Harm stifled another sigh, knowing the reaction he'd get. The exercises, as Liz had explained to him, weren't really that difficult – or at least they wouldn't be if he had full movement in his shoulder. During their first session together it had taken her only minutes to prove to him just how limited his movement was. For weeks he'd been compensating for it, fooling himself that nothing was wrong. Now no one was sure they could put the damage right. Lying down, he angrily swatted that thought away and concentrated instead on the exercises.

Concentrating wasn't easy though. It wasn't just his shoulder that ached. Everything hurt. Whatever he moved, from his head down to his legs, his left-hand side protested, reminding him the bullet hadn't just damaged his shoulder. The lightweight sweats he was wearing were sticking to his body. He was forty-two years old but he felt twice that age as his previously fit body betrayed him with every movement.

"Whoa. Slow down."

Liz's command cut through his thoughts like a knife. Blinking, he focused on her.

"Slowly," she repeated, the sharp note in her voice replaced by a much softer one that he couldn't remember hearing before. "Remember what I said about your breathing."

Harm glared at her for a moment then swallowed the fiery retort that was on the tip of his tongue. She was right: he was pushing too hard, allowing the pain and frustration to take control. He didn't want to go slowly though: he wanted to go fast. He wanted this over and done with. There were people he wanted to go and see, problems he had to solve. He needed to be back on his feet and working at JAG and he needed to be there now. There were so many things running around in his head at top speed, screaming for his attention. And here was Liz calmly telling him to slow down as if all he had to do was put the brakes on and all his problems would go away. The absurdity of it hit him full on and suddenly he was laughing.

"Want to share the joke?"

Shaking his head Harm closed his eyes, blanking out the image of Liz's concerned face. She had good reason: there was a note of hysteria in his laughter. With an effort, he got himself under control and opened his eyes. Liz was still crouched beside him, her relaxed posture not fooling him for a second. Flashing her a wan smile he rolled over onto to his good side then slowly sat up. "Sorry. Not sure what happened-"

With a wave of her hand she dismissed his apology. "Don't worry. I have that effect on my patients all the time." Getting to her feet she offered him her hand. "How about we call it a day? You know how to do the exercises now. I'll schedule you back in for two days time and we'll see how you're doing then."

Torn between relief that they'd finished and frustration that he hadn't made more progress, Harm hesitated. Liz made the decision for him. Tucking her arm under his injured one she supported him as he struggled to his feet. She didn't let go until he was settled in a comfortable chair by her desk. Handing him a bottle of water to drink, she sat down and attacked the paperwork that Harm had come to realise was the mainstay of the medical profession.

Despite the fact that the office area was next to the gym they'd been working in, it was surprisingly quiet. Sipping gratefully at the water, Harm felt exhaustion slowly creeping through his limbs, leaving him feeling like a puppet whose strings had been cut. To make matters worse his eyelids were drooping too. He'd spent the previous two evenings looking for Robinson's colleagues, hoping they'd give him information about the man who had murdered him, Chief Petty Officer Shayler. He'd found them – eventually. But what he'd discovered had just dragged him down further into the black fog that was enveloping him. Now his body was punishing him too. Concentrating on keeping his eyes open, it was a moment or too before he realised Liz was watching him, a deep frown on her face.

"Are you getting enough sleep?"

Harm looked down at his hands, giving him precious seconds to control the hysterical laughter that was threatening to bubble over again. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had more that a few hours sleep. But no matter how much he trusted Liz, a little voice in his head was telling him that confessing to her that a dead man had been invading his dreams amounted to career suicide.

"You need to rest."

Again the hysterical laughter bubbled its way to the surface and for a second he let it go, not caring how it sounded. "I can't get much more rest," he shot back, balling his hands into fists as he fought to stay still against the torrent of pent-up emotion that was threatening to wash him away. "I'm not allowed to work. I can't fly. I can't do any of the things I've been trained to do. I've got people watching every move I make. If I cough they go running to the Admiral. They took away the case I was working on and now I can't help Robinson…" Too late he realised the information he was giving away. Sucking in a deep breath, he tried to compose himself. Listening to the harsh sound of his own breathing he waited for Liz to say something. When she didn't, he looked up.

What he saw surprised him. She wasn't watching him. Her attention was on her pen as she fiddled with it in her hands. It was, Harm realised, the first time he'd seen her unsure of herself. When she finally met his gaze his stomach twisted nervously. He could sense a lecture looming.

"They're concerned, it's natural that they're looking out for you."

Tiredly he rubbed his hands over his face. His rant had sucked what little remaining energy he had left out of him. Ironically he felt like he could sleep for a week. The last thing he wanted to do was talk. Still, she had a way of talking that didn't make him feel like he was being judged. And he'd confessed more to her in five minutes than he had to any of his friends. What else did he have to lose?

"I don't want their concern," he sighed, staring blankly at his hands. "I want everything to be back to how it was." Back to when Robinson was still alive and he had no idea Shayler was a murderer. When he and Mac were still talking. When it looked like he – they – had a future. It seemed like a long time ago.

"Before you were injured?"

He allowed himself a sad smile, acknowledging the inevitability of the answer. "Yeah. But it's not going to happen is it?"

She matched his smile with one of her own. "Does it ever?"

He managed a weak laugh. "No."

Silence fell again and Harm forced himself not to twitch as Liz fiddled with her pen again. "Don't give up," she replied eventually, fixing him with a steady gaze. "The body is an incredible machine. You'd be amazed what it can recover from. I'll do everything possible to get you back on active duty. But you have to want it up here." She tapped the side of her head with the pen.

Harm snorted. "There's a lot going on up there."

Liz nodded. "So I gathered. But I'm not a psychiatrist-"

"Could have fooled me."

He hadn't meant to sound so harsh. She didn't take it that way. "I can help you but you need to rest. And I mean proper rest. You need to sleep."

"I am sleeping," he shot back defensively, looking away as she shot him a piercing glare.

"Are you taking pain medication?"

"Sometimes," he admitted grudgingly, not happy with the direction of the conversation.

"Sleeping tablets?"

"No."

She looked surprised at him adamant tone. "Why not? They might help."

"They make me drowsy." Recognising the inanity of that statement he tried again. "They make it difficult to think."

"And you've got a lot to think about?"

"Are you sure you're not a psychiatrist?"

Liz sighed and shook her head. "Okay. I'll make a deal with you. If your doctor agrees to prescribe something to help you sleep, will you take it for a couple of days? If it doesn't make a difference then you can come back and say 'I told you so'."

Despite himself, Harm smiled. "I'd like that."

She shut the file in front of her, effectively closing the conversation. "Figured you would. So it's a deal?"

His head spinning at the speed with which she'd changed his mind, Harm thought it over. Maybe she was right. And it was still up to him whether he took the pills or not. With a nod he agreed. He waited as she dialled a number. When it rang for a while with no answer she gave up.

"I need to go to upstairs," she explained as she got up. "Don't go anywhere."

Laughing to himself, Harm watched her go. He was in no fit state to make a run for it and she knew it. Even if his legs would carry him – which he doubted – the pain in his shoulder would stop him after a few hundred yards.

Settling down to wait, he rubbed his shoulder gingerly as he considered what he'd just agreed to. He hated taking medication, hated feeling like he was losing control. But the idea of sleep was too alluring to be refused. He was exhausted. He couldn't think straight. If the medication could help him escape just for a few hours… With a clear head he could make things up with Sturgis and Mac. And he'd make things right for Robinson by proving Shayler was a murderer…

Assuming he ever found witnesses willing to testify against Shayler of course, the little voice in his head taunted. With a groan he slumped further into the chair and finally gave in to his drooping eyelids. He'd been up until 2am, sitting in a bar talking to three of Robinson's colleagues but despite his much vaunted abilities as an investigative lawyer he'd come away with nothing. Maybe he was past it. He'd always prided himself on his ability to understand human nature. The men he'd met in that bar had proven how wrong he was.

Perhaps he was being naïve but he'd assumed they'd want to talk to him. Robinson had been their colleague, maybe their friend. He'd suffered a violent death and it was possible they had information that could bring his killer to justice. If that had been Sturgis or Mac instead of Robinson… His mind balked at the unbearable image the last thought conjured up. The image of Robinson bleeding to death would haunt him forever. But if it had been Sarah…

He shivered and opened his eyes. The nightmare images began to fade but the taste of bile still lingered in his mouth. Concentrate, he told himself, dragging his mind back to the bar and Robinson's colleagues. Think about it. Why had they been so hostile towards him?

That wasn't actually true he decided, running the encounter through his mind. Only one of the men, their unofficial spokesman, had been hostile. The other two had been…surly. At the time he'd been too troubled to notice. Now the difference in their attitudes was obvious.

It was the second night he'd been searching for them and he'd been on the verge of giving up. Walking into the fourth bar of the evening and barely able to keep his eyes open, he'd convinced himself there was a huge conspiracy going on. Automatically heading for the bar it took him a moment to register the three men sitting in the corner.

He really must have been tired he realised. Otherwise there was no way he could have missed them. Rogers, their 'leader', was holding court, his voice loud enough to be heard over the jukebox that was pumping out something with a heavy bass. From his position Harm couldn't get a good look at him but his silhouette marked him out as Navy. Following his gut instinct he took a deep breath and went over to introduce himself. Instantly he knew he'd struck gold. Conversation stopped and three pairs of eyes stared at him. Mentally framing his opening line, Rogers beat him to it.

"Rabb. You're the guy who was defending Robinson."

The man was sneering. Bristling at the display of insubordination Harm drew up to his full height and moved closer, towering over the seated men. "That's Commander Rabb, sailor."

Slowly the three men got to their feet. Harm faced them down, not blinking until they were standing, their eyes fixed firmly to the front. He'd dealt with insubordination before; it was an occupational hazard for a JAG lawyer. He hadn't expected it here though and it put him off balance, forcing him to retreat behind his military persona. It wasn't the way he'd planned for the meeting to go.

The situation didn't improve as the evening changed into the early hours of the morning. Rogers remained civil: barely. The other two men, whose names he'd struggled to remember, never spoke more than a few words at a time. No matter how many times he reminded them exactly what Shayler had done they stayed tight-lipped. With the image of Robinson's bleeding body driving him on he'd never been so passionate about an argument before. It didn't work. His shoulders slumped in defeat he'd given in.

Getting up from the table he hesitated, unable to leave without one final plea for help. "If you change you mind just give me a call," he suggested, scribbling down his apartment phone number and offering it across the table.

Rogers snorted and pushed the piece of paper back. "You don't get it do you, Commander? Robinson told us what happened. We told him he was nuts but he wanted to do it for his wife and kids. He said you were gonna help him. Look what happened - who's gonna look after his kids now?"

The words struck Harm like a physical blow. Shayler had said something similar to him moments after he'd shot Robinson and seconds before he'd pulled the trigger on Harm too. As the blood drained from his face he headed out of the bar, desperate to get some fresh air. The last thing he heard as he left was the sound of the three men laughing as Rogers lit the piece of paper with a match.

With a groan, Harm opened his eyes. He had no idea how long he'd been sitting in Liz's office but his sweatshirt had dried, leaving him feeling cold. A quick glance at the wall clock told him it had only been five minutes since she'd left. Debating whether to go and get changed or sit and wait he was saved from making a decision when she reappeared.

"Sorry," she explained, rolling her eyes, "Doctor was on a call." She reached in her pocket and handed him a piece of paper covered in spidery handwriting. "But she did agree to our plan. Go and get changed then someone upstairs will sort out this prescription." When he hesitated she edged it closer, an encouraging smile on her lips. "Just two days. I promise it'll make a difference."

With a sigh, Harm took it. "I hope so."

Sitting in the locker room a while later he took the piece of paper out of his pocket, squinting at the scrawled writing. Was this two steps forward or one step back? He couldn't decide. But right now he had nothing to lose. Once he got home that evening he'd follow Liz's advice and try the sleeping tablets.

First though, he had to visit Mrs Robinson and apologise for her husband's death.


End file.
